Into the Eye of Jesus - A Game of Thrones Lie
by HodorSavedMyCattle
Summary: Theon Greyjoy, local fuckhead and renowned denier of Christmas, is taught the secrets of that special winter holiday on a journey through space! (But not time and space, that'd be impossible). Gregor Clegane is probably not in this story.
1. Chapter 1 - HorribleChildMeetsTheMessiah

INTO THE EYE OF JESUS – A GAME OF THRONES LIE

GREETINGS ONCE AGAIN DEAR TRAVELLERS OF THE VORTEX, MY SCRUBIOUS FRIENDS

WE COME HERE BRINGING A SPACE GIFT, A STORY FROM ANOTHER WORLD

A WORLD OF FUCKING LIES AND TOTAL SHIT

WE'RE FUCKING LATE FOR CHRISTMAS, BY A WHOLE MONTH REALLY, AND YET HERE WE ARE WRITING THIS FESTIVE STORY

BE SURE TO RE-READ IT WHEN CHRISTMAS COMES BACK AROUND, BECAUSE YOU MIGHT LEARN A FEW HIDDEN SECRETS *WINKY FACE*

SO, ANYWAY… WHAT'S HANGIN', READER? YOU BEEN GOOD?

WE WRITE THIS FOR YOU FAM

ALTHOUGH TECHNICALLY, AND OFFICIALLY, THIS STORY IS DEDICATED TO ONE LITTLE DOG CALLED GABE, WHO BRIGHTENED THE LIVES OF ME AND ALSO OLLIE I GUESS

AIGHT LET'S DO THIS SHIT

Chapter 1: A Horrible Child Meets the Messiah

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature is stirring, not even a tiger. Theon Greyjoy, local cunt, age twelve, doesn't believe in Christmas. Because he's like a cunt or something. I mean, not believing in Christmas is kind of ridiculous on account of there being evidence for it everywhere, because it does actually exist. It's not like aliens or something, it actually exists. Everyone knows it exists, there's snow and tinsel and wreaths and shit everywhere. But alas, evidence was proving insufficient for Theon; what an absolute contrarian. I fucking hate twelve year olds. He's probably just being a petulant fucking child for no reason. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that he was basically kidnapped by a strange man and forced to live in a shitty winter land, forced to celebrate it every fucking day of the year, and so he's basically chosen to vehemently deny its existence so as to shy away from these dark memories. Thank fuck he was able to run away to the quaint Victorian London town known to the locals as Mucky Street, where Christmas only returned like one day a year. And when Christmas does make a completely unprecedented and unwanted return in his life, he is not going to greet it with open arms, oh no! So, off Theon went, in search of Christmas.

AND BOY DID HE FIND A CHRISTMAS. As he was walking down the grimy streets, he could notice a distinct lack of people. As he was wondering where all the local scrotes had buggered off to, he could hear the faint sound of carol singers far off in the distance. Christmas lights tinkled overhead, and boy were they trying to be especially festive for little ole Theon. Theon noted that this was pretty Christmas-y, but he was not altogether convinced by the ruse. How did he know that the universe wasn't just miraculously reforming itself to try and trick him, conjuring these twinkling lights to mesmerise him, catch him unawares, and then bugger him senseless with Christmas cheer? He shivered at the thought, and perhaps his shivering was exacerbated further by the wintery weather, the gusty winds brushing against his cheek like the cock of a cheeky poltergeist.

And so he walked on further. He saw a snowman with big snow wellington boots, stomping around in a matter resembling a cantankerous middle-aged man who has just accidentally smacked his exposed toes against a mantelpiece or something. Dunno how he would be able to smack his foot against a mantelpiece, maybe he was practising some graceful ballet, as middle aged men are prone to do. Theon saw this snowman, and yet was not convinced that this was a sign of Christmas magic in the air. Snowmen did this kind of shit all the time, on account of the undeniable fact that they were motivated entirely by vitriol. Short-tempered snow shites, the lot of them. Theon continued walking through the cobblestone streets, and his perceptive twelve year old eyes spotted other signs of Christmas. He saw a box of Celebrations, and some of those biscuits that only come out at Christmas, and a Lynx Africa body spray set. But, against all sense, Theon ignored these signs, and contrived asinine reasons as to how what was happening right now was not Christmas.

However, what Theon saw next could not be denied as evidence of Christmas. Two adults, walking towards him. Between them, a small baby, each of the adults holding one of the baby's hands. The baby was floating two inches off the ground, and was wearing a flowing robe and was sporting a beard. Holy shit, thought Theon. Although maybe he didn't say that, because he's like twelve. What kind of swear words do twelve year olds say? 'Flange?' 'Fussock?' 'Ape?'

Is that who I think it is? thought Theon. It wasn't. Theon thought it was his friend, little Alfie, who was sporting a beard at the age of nine. But no, it wasn't little Alfie… it was Little Jesus! And the people on either side of him were Mary and Joseph, in case you couldn't guess that. In fact, this Jesus had a hyper-realistic face, even though he had the body of a baby. Like you know those still shots in Spongebob Squarepants? That's what he looks like.

The three strangers sauntered up to Theon, and came to a stop in front of him. It was a tense moment. The wind blew around them. Jesus looked at Theon with ageless eyes.

When he spoke, it was with the voice of Ringo Star, and it was out of sync with his lip movements. 'You are frail. I forbid you go outside.' And then the noise started, from all around him. It sounded like a thousand shrieking steam trains blowing their fucking hooty harmonica whistles. Jesus' eyes enlarged, spread out over his face like an oil spill, the pupils fusing together like the opposite of what bacteria does when it splits into two, and then began to rapidly enlarge until Jesus' entire face was one giant eye with a pupil black as sin.

Theon was mildly perturbed by this. He was more perturbed when he saw that his body was disintegrating, his arms and legs turning into dice, handfuls and handfuls of porcelain dice that spiralled in the air and lazily drifted and then were suddenly spiralling, caught in the vortex pull of Jesus' judging eye. The surface of the pupil barely rippled as the dice pieces of Theon's body tinkle-tankled into that gaping void. Theon didn't even have time to make some sort of comment about how even this was not conclusive evidence of Christmas existing (in fact he tried to, but upon opening his mouth the only thing he found himself saying was 'resonate with me', which is not what he intended to say at all), his mind had vanished and he wasn't even aware of his brain pieces, encased in blocks of dice, being sucked into the Jesus eye. And then there was no more Theon.

There was nothing, for a time.

But then there was Theon. When he awoke, he was no longer in the quaint, if currently tarnished by the spirit of Christmas, town he called Mucky Street. Instead, he was standing atop an endless ocean of rippling black. He looked into the sky, pale pink and devoid of clouds, and saw five moons, like the watchful eyes of gods. Four were black like obsidian, and one, the dominant moon, suspended in the sky higher than the rest, was as crimson as the blood of a pon-pon bird (yes, _very delicate white creature_ ). Theon was rather vexed by these current circumstances. He looked around, gawping at this hellish landscape he found himself in, and at least could take solace in knowing that at least this purgatory was free of all signs of Christmas.

Silhouetted against the light emanating from the crimson moon (yes this moon is a light source, please fuck off), there appeared three figures. At first svelte and half-formed, with slender limbs and malformed shapes, but as they drifted down to apparently greet Theon, their features became more clearly defined. They settled down atop the surface of the water, their landings barely making a ripple on the water. They all looked rogueish and handsome, wearing tunics and holding bows and arrows. They looked familiar, yet distant.

Suddenly, the water below them began to bubble, and the man in the middle said, 'Well, that's sure to affect the local fishing industry!' They all laughed amongst themselves. From the bubbling water arose a figure, ten foot tall and covered in lumpy tumour type things. But his face was recognisable once more as a hyper-realistic Jesus, albeit in the form of some sort of monstrous troll. Slick slime-like water ran off of his icky robe and surprisingly well-kept beard. He looked at a spellbound Theon with those Jesus eyes once more.

His voice was no longer that of Ringo, but was an orotund thunder. 'Come one step closer and I'll shoot.' He was holding a glock. Theon was confused, but took a step back regardless. Jesus seemed pleased with this. He pulled out a map from his robe pocket, and immediately scrunched it up, letting it turn into a dove and fly away. This was getting a bit too surreal for Theon!

'This is your life,' rumbled Jesus, gesturing to the fluttering bird. 'Once bound to a journey, a distinct life course, you are now a free spirit, flying high through the colours of the cosmos. This is my gift to you. You must use it to discover the truths of Christmas, for then you will see.'

Theon was a twelve year old, and therefore fucking annoying, and so responded with petulant whining. 'But how can I understand the truths of Christmas when Christmas doesn't exist?!'

Now Reader, you might be thinking to yourself, how could Jesus respond to a conversationalist this unrelenting in its obstinacy to see the truth? By telling him to fuck off. As he said this, three portals opened up behind him, shimmering hoops in the air. 'You will use your liberty to traverse the astral realms of the cosmos and learn the eldritch secrets of this winter solstice. You will do this, lest you become lost in the tinsels of time.'

He turned around to look at the three archer gents who had just kind of been standing around in awe of Jesus' ogre majesty. 'However, you are unworthy to travel this dream quest alone. Because you're like twelve. You shall be accompanied on your travels by one of the Three Robins.' The Three Robins all 'yar-har!'-ed and raised their bows into the air. Jesus came up to Theon, so close that Theon could smell the stanky brine smell that clung to Jesus. 'Go forth, Mesozoic Creature.'

'That's not my name.'

'It is your moniker.'

'No I don't want it.'

'Fuck off. Go figure out the secrets of the universe, Mr Mesozoic.'

Before he could respond with an appropriate complaint, Theon was suddenly being swallowed by the sludge beneath his feet, felt the amoeba monsters of the abyss suckle at his flesh. Theon wondered briefly why Jesus had gone to the trouble of conjuring those fancy portals if he was going to just be engulfed by the ground beneath him, but paid it little heed because he was too busy being scared of death by drowning. He was briefly aware of one of the Three Robins shouting out, 'I shall be with you shortly! Just make sure to watch out for jaguars falling out of trees!' The Three Robins laughed and 'yar-har!'-ed at that. And then Theon was gone once more. Perhaps he would emerge in a place less surreal.

Theon- sorry, Mr Mesozoic, woke up in a spaceship. He was all like, 'Oh my days! What's going on here?' Then he looked out the window and saw space outside, and then he knew. 'Oh my days!' he reiterated. 'B-but, spaceships aren't real! I don't believe in them!'

'You better believe in spaceships… you're in one!' commented a passing Pirates of the Caribbean enthusiast. This was the one joke I had for this story. This entire story was written because I wanted an excuse to use this joke. And in the overall context of the story, it makes no fucking sense.

So, Mr Mesozoic sits upright, taking in the futuristic white space walls and science space crates with glowing green lights on them to signify that they're from the future. Or at least from another planet a certain number of light years away that is more scientifically and technologically advanced than Westeros; like fucking hell dude, you think that Jesus could send Mr Mesozoic into the future? Fuck off, no one could do that. It'd be impossible. Yes we're equating 'technologically advanced' to 'has glowing green lights on it'.

Then Mr Mesozoic sees the crew, just kind of like chilling around the captain's chair, taking in the expansive view of space. Now let's go for a brief rundown of the crew. One of them was a capuchin monkey wearing an exciting hat, who was eating out of a jar of Nutella with no regard to how such behaviours could be detrimental to his health. One of them was a man with a pineapple for a head (don't ask him about it) and a custom-made pastel pink suit (to draw attention away from his pineapple head). One was an imposing gent seemingly entirely made out of a light pink metal, and Mr Mesozoic would soon realise that this is because he can transform into a motorcycle, but does so infrequently. One was a thing from space that lived in a bin; we won't discuss him. And one was a woman, aged around fifty-something, who was wearing a t-shirt that said, 'Donnie Darko doesn't make sense'. And then the captain chair spun around, and lo and behold was one of the Three Robins, having adapted his get-up to look sufficiently space-y. This Robin was played by Brian Bedford. Brian Bedford was actually originally the voice of the animated Robin Hood in the Disney film, but he was a human here, not some sort of odd anthropomorphic fox. That would make this seem like some sort of Starfox ripoff, and we're above that. He's a foxy man at heart, if that means anything.

The monkey, whose name is Milkshake, briefly stopped eating its Nutella to tap the captain on the shoulder with an icky monkey hand. 'Captain!' hooted the monkey. 'I swear to you, this vessel is cursed! Never before in all my space explorative days have I ever seen such bad luck in one voyage! Cursed, I say!'

The captain turns around, looking at his crew. He raises his bow, and with a 'yar-har!' he said, 'The only curse I've ever experienced is my life-changing childhood obesity!' And the whole crew laughed heartily, all fear about the future of their voyage totally forgotten. Mr Mesozoic was scared, because he's twelve and a pussy and also fuck that guy.

NEXT TIME: SPACE MISSION! ALSO THE RETURN OF OMAC!

YEAH WE'VE DECIDED THAT WE'RE GONNA END EVERY CHAPTER WITH A STOLEN 'NEXT TIME' TAGLINE FROM A SILVER AGE COMIC BOOK

YOU CAN'T STOP US

CHEERS FOR READING, WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED; I MEAN I KNOW YOU DIDN'T, BUT I HOPE YOU DID

SEE YA LATER, PUNKY FRIEND

FUCK


	2. Chapter 2 - Monkeys in the Zoo

SOME SORT OF HELLO

WELCOME AGAIN, MY POW-WOW-PAL

ARE YOU EXCITED TO READ THIS THING? WE'RE NOT EXCITED TO WRITE IT

BUT DUDE, THIS HERE HAS BEEN ONE BUSY WEEK, EH? PRETTY GOSH DIDDLY DARN HECTIC?

TELL YOU WHAT BROTHER FROM THE GUTTER, I'LL PAY YOU A SLIPPERY FAVOUR

YOU GIVE ME SUMMADAT DOSH IN YER WALLET AND I'LL TEEL YOU A SPICY STORY

HONESTLY THIS THING HERE IS SO POINTLESS TO WRITE NOW THAT WE CAN'T RECAP THE LAST EPISODE OF GAME OF THRONES

BUT ALAS, IT IS TRADITION NOW, WE ARE SLAVES TO OUR OWN DESIGNS

AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGEMENT, THE VOICES IN MY EAR HAVE REQUESTED MOST EARNESTLY TO DEDICATE THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER TO MONKEYS

THEY WHISPER, AND I QUOTE, 'I FUCKING LOVE MONKEYS MAN'

THEY WOULDN'T SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MONKEYS AND APES THIS ENTIRE TIME

THEY EXPLAINED EVERY POSSIBLE REASON WHY MONKEYS ARE FUNNY

THEY WOULDN'T STOP LOOKING UP ONLINE LISTS LIKE 'TOP TEN COMICS FEATURING MONKEYS'

THEY KEPT ON FUCKING LAUGHING AT THE MONKEYS

I FUCKING HATE THIS

Chapter 2 – Monkeys in the Zoo (also fuck you)

So they're in space. You thought they were crashing in space? Nah mate, they were chillin' in space. I mean I think they're having troubles? You may recall Milkshake the monkey commenting something to this effect. Honestly we're not sure ourselves, so we'll just see where this goes. Brother.

So, Theon, or Mr Mesozoic, is all like, 'Is this space?' And the crew were like, 'yeah. We're in a meteor belt though, to be more specific.' The motorbike man, known as Congleton, had turned his arm into a steering wheel (no I won't say how his motorbike has a steering wheel on it, put your fucking hand down) and was kind of like navigating their way through the treacherous meteor field! No I don't know how his steering wheel operates the ship, please fuck off! I don't know how space works, I honestly just wanted to write a space adventure but I don't know anything about space. I don't even really like space adventures all that much. We may go back to Westeros in a bit. We haven't planned this.

Robin suddenly grabbed Theon by the fucking neck, and leant in close so that Theon could feel his warm breath on his neck; it smelt of roasted nuts. Robin spoke in his quaint Disney voice, though Theon felt that this lovely voice was somewhat offset by the fact that he was being throttled. 'This is your first trial! Don't balls it up, bro! Go forth and become one with space!'

'I don't want to become one with space! I'm just a child!' cried Theon.

'You're going to become a space child soon, bro! Hold on tight, space sprog!' At that moment, the chair that Theon had absentmindedly settled his arse in locked restraints around his limbs, and began to rise with a low mechanical whirring. 'I shall explain your first task for you! You must rise out of that suspicious hole in the roof of our spaceship and go up top to activate our hyperspeed drive thing! The nomenclature is lost on me, but this matters little! And then we shall escape this horrible meteorite field thing, and we shall be off on our way to space epiphanies about Christmas and stuff!'

'But it's space outside!' shouted Theon as the chair rose up through the space hole. But it was too late, Theon had already fucking died in space. He froze, and then he kind of fucking exploded, his sad body parts drifting away into the dark void of space. It was the most fucked up thing Robin had ever seen, and he was very ashamed that he was the one who had caused this.

'You dolt!' shouted Milkshake. 'Children can't survive in space!'

'Fuck, you're right, bro!' replied Robin. 'Now who's going to activate our hyperspeed drive thing?!'

Meanwhile, Theon had awoken once again in the void. He drifted on a crimson cloud in an empty plain of colourless nothingness, not properly formed on account of his body having fucking exploded a few seconds prior. Theon, bodiless, saw the world from innumerable angles all at once, now that this purgatory had broadened his state of mind to allow such an impossibility. Jesus once again stood in front of him, now in the form of a tiger man with a giant fucking shotgun in his hand; he has given up trying to be like eldritch esoteric entities, now he's going full-out dumb because it's not like he has to give any sort of a shit. He levelled his shotgun at Theon.

'Stay the fuck back,' he growled, the weird tiger mouth distorting his words (dude what the fuck is up with tiger mouths, with like their little puffy cheek things on their top lip, mad). The fact that this was becoming a common occurrence for Theon, and thus he was not fazed by it, did not frighten Theon anywhere near as much as it should.

'It appears that you have suffered an injustice, Mr Giblets', intoned Jesus. 'However, the cosmic clock is bonging its decisive bongs for your future.' The world suddenly started violently shaking, thought Jesus stood tall through it, as thunderous bongs resounded throughout reality. Like one of those seeing-eye pictures you have to kind of like squint at and go cross-eyed at in order to properly see, Theon suddenly noticed that the oppressive colourless nothingness had shifted somehow to reveal a huge fucking clock, with too many numbers on it and mosaic patterns of staring, crying eyes. It was showing the time 7:12.

'Do you see the truth?' asked Jesus.

'What… is this the time that I died?' ventured Theon.

Jesus frowned, which looked really fucking weird on his tiger face. 'I mean, I guess so, probably. But shut up about that, that shit doesn't matter. Look at what the time actually is, Mr Giblets. It's 7:12. That means it's time for gifts.'

Jesus threw a wrapped present at Theon that looked a lot like a bicycle. Theon got excited, because he'd always wanted a bicycle, to be able to cruise around the cobblestones streets of his hometown, and wouldn't that be radical. He ripped apart the wrapping paper rapidly, a big dumb fucking terrible grin slapped on his face. But no, he was fooled once more, because when he opened his present, he did not find a bicycle. He found a space helmet. Jesus is a tricksy sort.

'Sometimes people die in space. I will reform you from the atoms of the universe.'

'What?'

Suddenly Theon was reformed from the atoms of the universe, from atop his weird space chair. He was wearing his newly acquired space helmet, which kind of but not really helped alleviate the horror of what happened next; he found his newly materialised form spattered with the frozen blood and guts of his previously exploded self. I mean it is space, so it's kind of like floating around him; he's caught in like a miasma of his own frozen gore. Like that bit in Jason X when Jason shoves some chick's head in liquid nitrogen and smashes it against a table top, or maybe like sticking your head in a strawberry slushie machine. That's pretty fucked.

So yeah everyone's freaking out in the space ship, giving Robin a pretty hard time. But I mean come on, we all make mistakes. Who hasn't, at some point in their life, been accidentally responsible for the explosion of a child? And I mean he was apologetic, but the crew was just rubbing salt in his wounds. What twats.

'What the ping-pong?!' cried Theon from within his cloud of his past self's blood. (He said 'ping-pong' because he's a horrible child, let's be reasonable. Who knows what other incredible swear words he has at his disposal?!)

'Holy shit bro! The child lives on!' cried Robin. He pushed Milkshake's angry monkey face away. 'Calm your coconuts, my simian pal! The sprog has returned from beyond the veil, to activate our hyperspeed drive thing! Child, press the magic hyper button up over there!'

'Why is the button that activates the hyperspeed thing on the roof of the funking spaceship?' choked Theon through the blood mist. 'I'm just a stupid idiot child, but even I can see that this seems to be a stupid decision!'

Robin began a big stupid long explanation to justify this dumb button positioning. 'You see, this is a roof goblin friendly ship! There exist certain species of space goblin who have adapted to a solely roof-based living, but alas, this means that it is hard for them to find jobs where they cannot be on top of things! And so, in order to keep such valuable members of the community in work, we got a goblin friendly ship, so that he can be up there to press the button! Unfortunately, we accidentally left the space station without our hired roof goblin Moonshoes (he was called Moonshoes because his magenta moonshoes are his prized possession), because we forgot to go up to the roof of the space station to get him! We've been on this journey for like six weeks now, because we ain't got hyperspeed. We should have gotten it done in like a day! This is like a simple delivery job, delivering this here little picture of a man wearing a hat to his nephew!' He held up the picture to prove this. The man in the picture was wearing a hat.

'Wow, what a funny entertaining story!' said a voice from the bin. It went ignored, because we don't acknowledge the thing from space that lives in a bin.

Theon was not entertained by this story. He had zoned out of the story and already pressed the button. No one had noticed that they had already travelled through hyperspace and arrived at their random space destination because they were all too engrossed in the story. When Congleton the pilot looked back through the big ole space windows to see what the fuck was gwarnin', he was shocked to see that they were now crashing into the surface of an uncharted planet.

He swivels around on his rad captain's chair and says, in the tinny pre-recorded voice of Congleton's creator, 'Ey boss, we 'bout to crash into this 'ere planet!'

'Oh, you fucking idiot!' shouted Milkshake. He whipped out his phone from one of the many pockets sewn onto his exquisite hat, took a picture of Robin for his SnapChat story, and captioned it, 'Twat' before uploading.

In was in this moment, where Yusef the pineapple man, stood up in one languid motion, pulled a pistol from the pocket of his suit, and efficiently shot the woman wearing the Donnie Darko t-shirt in the head. The woman fell down without a sound, resting in a pool of her own blood.

Yusef, pistol in hand, turned to look at the rest of the crew. Though his pineapple face had no real facial features, managed to look sufficiently menacing. 'That was a demonstration, to make sure none of you try to be a hero. I have been hired by my employer to eliminate-'

'Holy fuck, who the fuck is that!' screamed Milkshake, screeching like a monkey (because that's what he is) and pointing at the resting corpse of the woman with the Donnie Darko t-shirt.

'Holy fuck, who is that woman?!' shouted Robin. 'Where the fuck did she come from?! There's only like… five people on this crew!'

'Six, if you include that Pirates of the Caribbean fan stowaway,' said the thing in the bin. 'Also shouldn't we get Theon down from the chair…?' Theon was beginning to burn up as he entered the atmosphere at high velocity. The thing in the bin went ignored, because such was the way.

'This woman had no fucking reason to be here on this crew!' continued a ranting Robin.

'Unless…' thought Milkshake. 'Unless she was a FUCKING ASSASSIN! A BOUNTY HUNTER, ON A CONTRACT TO MURDER US ALL!'

'Of course! She must have snuck in here under cover of darkness, with intentions of murdering us all while we slept! God, how fucking NEFARIOUS!'

'No, no, you don't understand,' butted in Yusef, slightly peeved that his efforts of being a suave bounty hunter were being undermined. 'I am here to-'

And then they crashed through the atmosphere. The ship starts falling apart, shit gets really noisy. Theon, still stuck on the roof, burns to a crisp within seconds, his ashy remains fluttering away as the ship sails to earth. The other crew members are veterans though, so I doubt they'll die.

When Theon next reformed from the atoms of the universe, he was standing amidst the smoking chunks of metal debris that was once their ship. Still on top of the ship, he was now able to easily slide off onto the ground, which was sandy and ecru-coloured.

Everyone seemed to be okay, with the possible exception of Milkshake's slight headache. And I guess the corpse of the woman in the Donnie Darko t-shirt. Yusef, he of the pineapple head, looked at his crewmembers with poorly disguised contempt. He had hidden his gun for now, for he could not kill his targets when he had no means to escape. And with this ruined ship, he'd have to find another means to get back to his employer before he could eliminate these interstellar ruffians.

'Ah, young master Mesozoic!' yelled Robin, strutting on over to Theon, who was standing looking concerned about everything. Jesus had appeared to him in the form of a slug this time. 'You have just been responsible for the crashing of my ship, bro! You should have informed us! Nevertheless, the siren call for adventure drives us forward! We must find out what is going on on this here sandy planet, and then perhaps we can find a way to get going again, so we can deliver this picture of a man wearing a hat to its rightful owner! Yar-har!' Theon just nodded, trying to forget about how he'd woken up next to the ashen remains of his past self.

So they regrouped, they're all together. The thing from space is with them, but it rolls a little bit behind, because we don't want to acknowledge him. Off they bumbled, through these sandy wastes, under the soft orange clouds, towards whatever challenges that await them.

AHAHA FUCK YOU, YOU THOUGHT THIS CHAPTER WOULD END ON A QUIET POIGNANT NOTE? NAH FUCK THAT. On the horizon, they spotted a cloud of dust coming towards them, and before they could realise what was the origin of this cloud, it was too late. Suddenly, they were surrounded by hooting figures on huge roaring motorbikes. But these weren't ordinary people, oh no! They were big hairy apes! In black and white striped suits! With tommy guns! OH SHIIIIIIITTTT!

WOAH WASN'T THAT A STAR-SPANGLED SPANGLER

ERM

DON'T REALLY KNOW WHAT TO SAY HERE

READ OUR OTHER STORIES, THEY'RE BETTER THAN THIS

READ THIS NOTE TEN TIMES OVER

NEVER STOP READING NOTE

NOTE READ NOTE READ

GOODNIGHT


	3. Chapter 3 - Hollywood Hijinks

OK LET'S JUST CUT THE CHICKEN RIGHT NOW

WE'VE GOT SHIT TO BE DEALING WITH, DEADLINES TO MEET, WE GOTTA WRITE THIS STORY RIGHT NOW, PRONTO, WITHOUT DELAY

IGNORE THE FACT THAT THIS HERE PARAGRAPH COULD EASILY BE INTERPRETED AS DELAYING

FUCK OFF

Chapter 3 – Hollywood Hijinks

When we last left our heroes, but not really heroes because none of them are especially heroic and all of them are a bit shit to be honest, they had crash landed on the mysterious planet known to its inhabitants as Monkey-Madness, and had quickly been confronted by its ape populace! Get ready for scandalous never before seen footage on the planet of the monkey men!

'Ayy oh ayy, yo! Wotchu doin' 'ere on Louis' territory?' asked the central monkey as the roaring of the motorbikes and hooting of the monkeys ceased. The central monkey distastefully spat out his toothpick into the sand, because he's a cool gangster monkey yo, as if his incredibly well written dialogue couldn't get that across. All these monkeys are gangsters, hence their sartorial and firearm choicage.

'What the fuck did this here MONKEY just say?!' asked Milkshake in an irritated fashion (not to anyone in particular, but just to the world in general), reaching for his high calibre desert eagle which he kept dangling from a holster positioned where his cock would be. He is like a simple minimalistic drawing of a cartoon monkey, by the way. Like Curious George, but with more anger in his heart. Just thought we'd clear up these anatomical details, because we care about our readers' experience.

'Ay oop, chin up! Let's not be too brash now, eh Milkshake?' asked Robin, smacking Milkshake's desert eagle out of his monkey hands. 'No need to shoot the bastard, eh?' He then fired an arrow into the sky for no real reason, but seemed to find the act of doing so hilarious.

Bobby Dassulu, the central monkey, started shouting at his compatriots. 'Eh yo Tommy?'

'Yeah boss?' asked another monkey. Tommy only has one eye, but for some reason he wore his eye patch over the eye that did still work.

'Eh yo Randy?'

'Yeah boss?' rumbled another monkey. Randy was the muscle of the group, but also carried the monkey troupe's brass instruments with him. Because they're not just gangsters, they're an impromptu jazz band. It's good to have multiple talents. I mean why just limit yourself to one profession? There's a life lesson in there somewhere but I'm not going to pretend to find it. It's more than this story deserves. But in case you were wondering, because I know I was, yes, turf disputes between rival clans of monkeys are often settled with band battles. The sound of saxophones can often be heard at sundown on the planet of Monkey-Madness.

'Boys, I need you to round up these here troublemakers, make 'em answer for their crimes of loiterin' on Louis' turf! We gots to bring 'em to the King, boys! Bring 'em to the King!' Bobby started scatting, and his monkey friends joined him. They shot their tommy guns into the air to create a makeshift staccato beat which further enthused the monkey musicians.

It was at this point where Congleton turned to his companions and began to conspiratorially chatter to them. 'Ere boss, we gots to get outta 'ere! But no worries, my skills of being a motorbike could come in handy here! All I gots to do is transform sharpish, then you lads jumps on me back and I cruise right outta 'ere!' Ignore the fact that we have like two ways of writing: normal awful speech, which is our staple, and kind of accented Italian mobster/Brooklyn geezer.

'Urgh, sounds like a TERRIBLE PLAN, OLD MAN!' said Theon, doing a 'talk to the hand' motion because he's an awful child, and also because we decided to make him a cool 90s kid for this chapter and thus will spend the foreseeable while insulting everyone.

'I am in a bin, I doubt I will be able to get on the motorbike', said the thing in the bin. No one heard it. It's great writing dialogue for the thing in the bin because it's not expected to be good, seeing as no one listens to it anyway. The thing in the bin sighed, and wondered to itself briefly if it might be dead, since a time had come some aeons ago when everyone stopped listening to him/her/xer. Is this entire story just the purgatory of the thing in the bin? Is it merely the thing in the bin's personal hell? More to come on this surprisingly profound and poignant turn of events that we just improvised.

But anyway. The others seemed fond of this plan. Congleton started turning into a motorcycle, but he'd forgotten that this transformation process takes like thirty seconds, and was accompanied with a lot of mechanical whirring and awful robot noises as his body plates kind of slid apart to become motorbike. It's honestly a mystery why he thought he'd be able to undergo this transformation in such a short period of time that the monkeys would not notice him. He got about six seconds into said transformation before the monkeys noticed, and began shouting stuff like 'looks like we've got a wise guy boss!' and 'what is this, the wise guy convention!' before raucously laughing and then shooting Congleton. Congleton's kneecaps were completely shattered; there was very little bone/metal left in his lower leg, and he was bleeding translucent pink oil.

'Oh my giddy goat!' said Robin with glee, as he unleashed a shit load of arrows onto the apes, because he's a sick archer. I mean we're the future, why the fuck does he have a bow and arrow. Like not even like a laser bow and arrow, just plain fucking bow and arrow. Imagine a bow made of laser. Milkshake let out a monkey whoop before manically firing his desert eagle which he apparently has, and also three vials of stinky fart gas (my other writer suggested he launched pots of mustard gas, but I strongly disagreed because this is a serious story and so there's no chance that Milkshake would just have some mustard gas lying around). Theon, being a terrible child, did a sick kickflip on his skater's board (or at least he would have done, so long as these NARKS had let him have a skater's board!) However, all their efforts were generally for naught, because they were facing off against some real tough hermanos!

Yusef, however, knew what he was trained for and pulled out his own handgun, killing all the monkeys with only two shots. He's a pretty good killer man yo. Everyone looked at him afterwards and chastised him for his over-excessive violence in the presence of impressionable sprogs. Theon did a sick grind on a nearby rail (OR AT LEAST HE WOULD HAVE DONE, IF THESE BOGUS ADULTS HAD LET HIM HAVE A SKATER'S BOARD).

They strutted on up to Bobby, the only monkey who was not dead, but was instead mortally wounded. Phew, what a relief! His crimson blood really messed up his lovely suit. Yusef, who just wants to get shit over and done with so he can get on with getting off this planet and also killing the damn crew and getting paid, pointed his gun at Bobby, under his monkey chin (do monkeys have chins? I feel like every time we write a chapter of this we end up questioning animal anatomy, or our own knowledge of how animals work and how fucked up they look). 'Alright, I'm only gonna say this once, so listen up and listen close. Where's your damn King, and how can I get off this god-forsaken planet?'

Bobby smiled a wry monkey smile; what did he know that the crew didn't? With a final 'badabing, badaboom', Bobby died as he pressed a button cleverly disguised as one of the buttons on his suit jacket, which apparently was a sci-fi device that activated the VERY LOUD MONKEY ALARM™. It sounded like a monkey screaming at a very loud volume, and also served to attract other very loud monkeys to its location so that they could all be very loud together, either by screaming or by playing their brass instruments.

'Woah now, look what you've down, you wise guy!' shouted Milkshake, whapping Yusef's ankles in light admonishment. Yusef quietly seethed at this completely unjustified insubordination.

'Hey there Milkshake, you aren't picking up on the lingo, are you? We don't need to worry about you turning native on us, and pointing that there gun of yours at us? Eh, you little pesky chimp?!' Robin laughed as he said this. Milkshake looked up with a look of indescribable horror at this quite frankly horrible show of racism. Because he was a capuchin monkey. He then remembered that Robin was from the twelfth century, and so let the discrepancy slide.

Instead he said: 'No way, José! I've just been watching a lot of gangster movies recently!'

'Hmm, apparently some genius has made scotch cream eggs…' mused the thing in the bin, who had long since resigned himself to be ignored and was therefore just browsing his FaceBook feed. Congleton, the other ignored character (although it's worse in Congleton's case because the thing in the bin was written to be ignored; we literally don't know how to write stuff for Congleton), let out a mechanised wail- wait no, not a mechanised wail, but a mechanised WHALE, in the hopes that someone would notice this roaring mechanata of the deep and then look over and see their grievously wounded friend on the floor in need of help.

'Wow, that sure is interesting!' said Robin. The joke with Robin and Milkshake is that they live in their own little safe space together, and are completely oblivious to all the horrible violence that goes on around them. 'Hey, that reminds me, there's been something I've been meaning to tell you to watch, my dear monkey friend!'

'Really, what's that?'

'Your back, kiddo!' Robin then pushed Milkshake over. Milkshake gave Robin the exact same look he gave earlier as Robin fell on the floor laughing his arse off. Their good times, however, were abruptly cut short when an army of monkeys arrived, on huge fucking motorbikes and blaring sick jazz jams on their numerous brass instruments. I mean I think I'm kind of underselling how many monkeys on motorbikes there are here right now. Imagine like one hundred monkeys, or like apes I guess. They're all on motorbikes, they've all got sick suits. Where did they get these suits? Maybe we'll find out. I do know that my fellow writer has a proclivity to writing gay fashion designer characters.

SO OBVIOUSLY, THE SPACE CREW ARE FORCED TO ACCOMPANY THESE HERE MONKEYS TO A BIG CAVE. Such is the way with monkeys, and the world in general. The lads were guided into the entrance of a large cave made of red stone; suspended above their heads was a huge carving of a big spooky monkey face. Fire lined the walls in conveniently positioned fire pits; yes the brass fire pits were carved with monkey-aesthetic filigree, obviously. There were three paths ahead of them, lined in bricks of differing shades of red, because yeah why not; all the motorcycles bugger off down one pathway, and some of the other monkeys leap off to guide Congleton to the medical centre/engineering centre (mainly because we don't know what to do with Congleton – yes the thing in the bin will remain here, he/she/xe rolled in his bin all the way here). More monkeys appeared because the story demanded their presence, and the space lads were carried into the main cave chamber, the giant stone ape head looming over them as they entered the cavernous depths. Theon wanted to do some sick skater's board stunts on the way there, but the monkeys wouldn't let him. Totally bogus!

Then, they saw that sitting in the huge fucking cavern, atop a huge fucking throne carved to look like monkey faces, sat a huge fucking orang-utan. Hanging around the orang-utan were a lot of ceremonial hung skater's boards, stuck on gibbets for all to see – this orang-utan truly hated teenage delinquency. The orang-utan had a big drooping moustache and sheriff's hat, and a look of UTTER DISGUST. He was the Sheriff around these parts, and he didn't like these RUFFIANS making havoc on his turf!

'What in TARNATION are you CITY-SLICKERS doing in my FARM?!' he shouted, voice like a clap of thunder.

Robin was shunted forward by the monkeys. 'Aha, the Sheriff, eh? My MORTAL ENEMY, EH?! Prepare to be foiled in a comical fashion!'

Milkshake then scrambled to the shoulder of his captain to whisper sage advice in his ear, something along the lines of, 'hey, maybe we shouldn't declare the large angry monkey man that we've only just met as our mortal enemy', but alas. It was too late. The ceremonial 'mortal enemy' crate was being lowered down from the ceiling on a little winch; it even had 'for usage on mortal enemies' spray painted on the side in angry red lettering. The space lads tried to run, but oh no, the monkeys had formed an impenetrable wall around them! They were trapped in an enclosure of monkeys! Maybe this could be construed as some sort of statement about the mistreatment of monkeys kept in zoos, and this is a representation of how the tables have turned? But nah probably not.

They heard Sheriff Louis chatting shit from his throne. 'Don't look in the crate, it's fucked in there. But oho, soon enough, you will have to look in the crate! And then… well, I'll have won, wouldn't I? Hahahaha!' Milkshake, as a very perceptive primate, noticed that none of the monkeys forming their prison were facing in the direction of the fucked up crate; clearly they were none too keen on seeing the contents of the crate either.

'Okay, maybe there's more to this that I'm not understanding, but this seems like a really dumb punishment', said Milkshake. 'I mean, we've been told that the crate is fucked. We have been advised not to look in the crate. It even implies on the crate that the contents of said crate are fucked. This punishment is seemingly entirely dependent on us, going against all logic, looking in the crate. And that's fucking dumb. I for one will not be looking in the crate. Robin?'

'Nope, looking at all the evidence, it is likely that I shall not be looking in the crate.'

'I will also not be looking in the crate', said the thing in the bin, to no response.

Yusef didn't say anything, because he felt that reiterating that he would not be looking in the crate would be rather obsolete. Now, Reader, you may be wondering exactly how a man with a pineapple for a head can see. Well, you know how pineapples have like that criss-cross pattern on them? Yeah, Yusef's entire pineapple head is like the compound eye of a fly. How does he close his eye-head then? His pineapple turns a slightly darker shade of orange, obviously.

Whilst this was happening, guess who's gone and looked in the fucking crate? Fuck's sake Theon, you utter cunt. And then Theon saw the contents of the crate, and saw that the contents of the crate were fucked. And you know what? He fucking died. Because it's fucked in there.

He rematerialized in a pristine white kitchen with a transparent floor, showing an endless abyss of red mists below him. Jesus was standing behind a table cutting an onion, this time in the form of an external computer unit wearing a chef's hat and comedy apron. He cried no tears.

'Mr Mesozoic has returned once more. You had to go look in the crate that was fucked, didn't you? You utter prick. You had one fucking instruction, not to go looking in the crate, but you went and did it anyway, didn't you?' This caustic scolding continued for five uninterrupted minutes, in a voice reminiscent of Ian McKellen if he had been punched in the throat and was speaking through a computer. Theon felt no regret for this, because he was a terrible child and wanted only to skate and listen to 80s rocking jams yo. He adjusted his baseball cap accordingly and stuck his tongue out at Jesus.

Jesus hit the little shit.

'Now here, the cosmos demands that you receive this.' Jesus handed Theon a blender.

'Thanks, old man,' said Theon in a scathing sarcastic manner. 'Thanks for giving me your old ancient 1950s toys! I only wanna go home and play on my Nintendo™ GameBoy™ if you know what I mean! You old timers don't know your Commodore 64™s to your Atari 2600™s!' He laughed heavily at this, but then found himself rapidly disintegrating into the void – in other times this jump was instantaneous, but Jesus had slowed down the process to let Theon know a final message. Jesus pulled out a gun and shakily pointed it at Theon, fearing his cool sang-froid totally chill attitudes. He lowered the gun, and said, 'Oh, it's you. Well, I tend to have many, what I like to call, "enemies". I apologise. No hard feelings, I hope?' He paused, before saying, 'Oh by the way, I'm going out later.'

Theon found himself puzzling over this as he rematerialized, not in the same spot he was before! Oh shit, as luck would have it, he had escaped the primate prison, and was hanging like a fucking idiot cat, from one of the many skater's boards the Sheriff had hanging from his ceiling! Wow, who'd have thought that they'd be useful in this story! As Theon clumsily unhooked one of those gnarly skater's boards, Milkshake's voice could be heard from within the confines of the monkey prison shouting out, 'Oh for fuck's sake, did Theon fucking die?!'

Theon, the self-proclaimed Man of Mischief, proceeded to perform an absolutely devastating half-cap kickflip, followed up by a front-side hurricane and a definitively DOPE quasimodo gutterslide. These moves were so bodacious that it literally transmitted waves of pure dope energy, which resounded around him in a shockwave of sick (not literal sick though, that'd be repulsive). These waves shook the foundations of people's boring perceptions of reality, revolutionising the way they knew the world with its excessive radicalness dude, and therefore the primate prison pretty much collapsed in on itself, thereby knocking the fucked-up crate shut and simultaneously freeing the space lads from their makeshift imprisonment! They did not thank Theon, because as far as they were concerned all he did was do a few stupid spins on a wooden board; but everyone else can see that these tricks done on the sweet skater's board mean a lot more than that.

Sheriff Louis was less than pleased with this; he was a fuddy-duddy, set in his ways and explicitly against all these new-fangled teenage tradition! Oh those rascally kids with their video boxes and blinking doohickies and rowdy foul blasting beats, he would often rant. But now what could he do?! All of his monkey henchmen, their lives irrevocably changed forever with their introduction to this new radical world, had rode off into the sunset distraught, to ditch those motorcycles and get some sick skater's boards! They shouted, 'fuck it dog, life's a risk!' as they fled. Sheriff Louis was pretty much fucked. Unless, he fell back on the last trick he had up his monkey sleeve…

HE FUCKING EXPLODED!

But luckily at that moment, a little motorcycle fucking SWOOPED IN from like a side door to the cave, I guess, and picked up those hapless sonsabitches! HOLY SHIT IT'S CONGLETON, THE ORIGINAL SHIT CHARACTER, BACK TO BE RELEVANT. Congleton didn't say anything as he did this sick rescue, just silently thought about how useful his deus ex machine arrival was.

'Thanks Congle!' said Robin.

'Thanks Congle!' said Milkshake.

'Rock on Congle!' said Theon.

'Bang' went Yusef's gun. FUCKING RIP CONGLETON, I REALLY EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU. Congleton's body underwent sudden engineering fuck-ups as his circuits malfunctioned and, whilst still travelling at 90 miles per hour, attempted to warp back into a human form, and basically just fucking exploded into shrapnel and wires and poor writing. Fortunately, the explosion flung everyone (including the Pirates of the Caribbean enthusiast) into a conveniently placed hot air balloon patterned with a monkey face, which was just about to set off to new lands!

The explosion knocked Yusef right the fuck out as he landed in the hot air balloon basket thing alongside everyone else, and they all spoke their appreciation for Yusef's thoughtful attempt to stop Congleton before he exploded, and his great judgement in launching them right into this balloon, so that they can travel to new worlds!

'So Theon, what have you learnt about the meaning of Christmas from this here escapade?' asked Robin. 'Is it perhaps that to understand Christmas, you must also understand the importance of BRAVERY?!'

'Bravery is cool, but there's more to life, like doing sweet flips, all fluffin' night!' said Theon with a wink to the camera.

'Please listen to me,' said the thing in the bin. And no one did.

SO THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER

UNTIL CHAPTER 4 THAT IS

WHERE THERE WILL BE SIGNIFICANTLY LESS MONKEY

AND WORDS

BUT MAYBE MORE OF SOMETHING ELSE?!

WE HAVEN'T DECIDED ON THE GIMMICK YET

IF YOU LIKED THIS, FOLLOW OUR OFFICIAL TWITTER AT: KANYEWEST

BYE EVERYO-


	4. Chapter 4 - FlamingApeAndTheSultansofSin

WELL LOOKIE HERE, IT'S BEEN LIKE THREE YEARS SINCE WE LAST UPDATED THIS

APOLOGIES, BUT WE'VE BEEN VERY BUSY, AND YOU'RE NOT EXACTLY— WE AREN'T— SHUT UP LOSER

SO, HOW'S THE WORLD CHANGED SINCE WE LAST WROTE THIS PIECE OF PISS?

NOT A WHOLE NOT REALLY; THE AIR'S STILL SEE-THROUGH AND THE SKY'S STILL BLUE, THE USUAL

BUT I'LL TELL YOU ONE THING THAT DID CHANGE - I DEVELOPED A MASSIVE TUMOUR, AND JUST CAN'T SEEM TO SHAKE IT OFF!

IT SPEAKS TO ME SOMETIMES! IT SAYS, 'WRITE THAT PIECE OF SHIT FANFICTION OF YOURS!'

SO YEAH I'M WRITING ON THE REQUEST OF MY TUMOUR, THAT LOOKS LIKE A SQUASHED OCTOPUS, IN THE VAIN HOPE THAT IT MAY GO AWAY

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO MY BOTTLE OF OLD J SPICED TIKI FIRE RUM THAT ARRIVED TODAY

OK ON WITH THE SHOW

Chapter 4 - God Stop Screaming At Me Barry, It's Upsetting _(or)_ The Flaming Ape and the Sultans of Sin

Seven hours have passed since our gang were last seen, and they've just been chillin' and billin'. Doing their bills, and doing their chills. One might assume that these two things are contradictory, as one cannot be in a chill state of mind when dealing with one's economic malarkey, but y'know these lads are pretty on top of their affairs, economic or otherwise. They're inspirational figures that everyone should look up to. I know a lot of people who are a hell of a lot less inspirational than these guys, and these guys here are fictional. Like I know a guy who set fire to a load of love letters from his ex girlfriend and put it on SnapChat for everyone to see, and then went to Ibiza for no real reason. That's kinda sad.

Let's reintroduce the gang, because we've forgotten. There's Theon (occasionally referred to as 'El Vagabundo Picante' due to some illicit antics he was privy to in the airport at Alicante), who doesn't have any bills because he's a dumb kid with no responsibility or likability, but someone gave him their bills to give him a bitter taste of reality and he doesn't know what to do! He wails to himself at all the numbers (he can only count up to twenty!) Then there's Robin, played by Brian Bedford, but don't get too attached to him! ;) Then there's Milkshake the monkey; he has a load of bills because he's in major debt! Like I've never seen a monkey in more debt than this little rascal! Clearly he bought one too many bananas! The only monkey I can think of who's in more debt is King Kong, with his debts to society! The amount of community service that giant ape had to do was staggering! There's also Yusef, who's knocked the fuck out, but that's okay because he's pretty on top of his financial affairs; the bounty hunting business is quite lucrative, providing he can actually kill his targets, which is currently proving problematic. The only thing this pineapple-headed killer cares about is cash, blood and PUSSY. And then there's the thing from space that lives in a bin, who has no taxes on account of the fact that he lives in a bin (you can't tax someone for poor lifestyle choices, that's just kicking a dog whilst they're down), but the constant feeling of not being loved by anyone (including the authors) must be pretty mentally taxing as it is. And that's the whole gang! They're on a flight through space, and they're en route to a little pastel blue moon (carved with a giant screaming face that kind of resembles Karl Marx, but don't concern yourself with how this moon is a physical manifestation for the plight of the communist) called Moon Boys Pizza Palace (named as part of an unsuccessful marketing gimmick of a knock-off space fast food chain - a rather ironic allegory of the relationship between the capitalist and the communist, but enough of this heavy-handed political bullshit). Why were they going to Moon Boys Pizza Palace, you ask? They're going there because that's where Milkshake owns a B&B, and so the lads are gonna crash there for a bit so that they can get their shit in order before heading off to another planet in search of the meanings of Christmas. Yeah it's because of the B&B that Milkshake's in so much debt.

(Okay just to clear some things up for you fuckers. The reason why Milkshake didn't recognise Monkey-Madness even though he supposedly owns a B&B right next to it is because Moon Boys Pizza Palace isn't in fact that close to Monkey-Madness; it's one moon in a series of moons (all named after fast food chains) that orbit each other sporadically, which in itself was part of a terrible marketing scheme, and these moons orbit each other in such a way that they rarely line up with Monkey-Madness. Also Monkey-Madness is pretty far away from Moon Boys Pizza Palace; their hot air balloon was really fucking fast).

The hot air balloon fucking crashed through the roof of Milkshake's B&B, as is tradition. Milkshake's B&B, by the way, was known as, 'The Dirty Diana', named after Michael Jackson's CLASSIC 1988 track, an irrefutable CLASSIC and also Milkshake's favourite MJ's song, although he is an avid fan of MJ's entire discography. As they crawled through the wrecked remains of the hot air balloon and fought their way through the pile of rubble and smashed masonry, they rang the bell at the front desk and were greeted by Jimminy Jericho, the most racist man on the moon, recognisable by snazzy smile and offensive slogan t-shirts. He led them to their rooms whilst spouting an endless stream of racial slurs; it was really uncomfortable for everyone involved. Milkshake explained that although he didn't agree with Jimminy's world views, Jimminy's only payment was the opportunity to spout his opinions at people and one cantaloupe a fortnight, so Milkshake considered hiring Jimminy a bargain, on account of his great expendable cantaloupe collection.

'Now this is one swell establishment!' said Robin enthusiastically as he was ushered into a little grubby bedroom with a banana motif. Like the wallpaper was bananas, there were some bananas hanging from the ceiling from little bits of string, the whole nine yards.

'Ahaha, yeah. I put my heart and soul into this, y'know?! Ahaha…' muttered Milkshake, staring forlornly down at the tiny scars on his wrist that informed him he only had thirteen days left to live. He shakes the reminder out of his head and puts on a smile once again. 'Well then guys, this'll be your room for the night. Since you're in with me, there's no holds barred! So I suggest you have a wee sesheroonie, if you know what I mean, whilst I get my monkey nose to the grindstone with these here bills of mine!'

'Ahaha, looks like you're swamped with bills, but we'll be popping all them pills! We'll have to get in contact with our good friend Violent Mog! He knows the score, and what's more knows how to score! As in drugs! Ahahaha!'

'Well Theon is like ten or some shit, so get that dickhead to watch The Incredibles or some shit', responded Milkshake. 'I'm off to bury my head in FINANCE'. And so off he went.

Theon blinked, and when he opened his eyes he was shocked to see that Robin had changed actors. He was now played by Errol Flynn. No one really seemed to pay any attention to this, which made it all the more confusing. The more eagle-eyed of you readers may be able to piece together that, now that Theon has technically but not really but close enough to figuring out a meaning of Christmas, a new Robin of the three Robins had to step in. If only Brian Bedford helped Theon on his Christmas quest, the other two Robins would feel kind of unnecessary and irrelevant and their bountiful energy would be depleted and replaced with slabs of sadness.

Robin felt a bit sad that he didn't have anyone to sesh with, because he didn't register the thing in the bin and Congleton was fucking dead and Theon was a child and all the Pirates of the Caribbean enthusiast did was complain that the rum was gone instead of actually being proactive enough to get up off his arse and buy some more rum. So Robin shook Yusef awake, and if a pineapple could convey a look of withering hatred, it did so. Fortunately for Robin he is not adept at reading the facial expressions of things that don't have faces, and so the vitriol was completely lost on him. He handed Yusef a flagon of Fosters, and Yusef's pineapple face skin literally contorted and twisted at the sight of this. He muttered something aggressively in woozy Russian (because y'know he had just been shook awake from unconsciousness), but Robin only speaks the language of Optimism and thus Yusef's anger was lost once again. Robin then began to scroll through his conch phone in search of other people to invite to the sesh.

Eventually, the sesh got underway. It was Robin, it was Yusef, it was Violent Mog. Violent Mog was a suave man with one amethyst protruding uglily out the side of his skull and teeth made of numerous probably poisonous metals, but he always had a shit load of hallucinogenic narcotics. He claimed that the black powder he was offering was the ground-up essence of long-dead gods, but this is dumb and no one was buying it. Literally or figuratively! Fortunately Violent Mog was giving out free samples, because he's an entrepreneur and knows that if you give people a little bit of something, they'll pay for more of it. I'm also an entrepreneur. I once invented a stick that tells if people are gay. My co-writer also had an idea about a lighter that doubles as a dog whistle, so when you're going for a fag at work you light up, and the dog whistle blows, and you get to hang out with a dog whilst you smoke (but then I informed my co-writer that dog whistles are intended to make dogs go away, and it made him quite sad).

Robin couldn't find anyone else to call, but that's alright. Three people can indeed maketh a sesh, and they had a fucking violent game of Suck Well Superman, a renowned drinking game in these parts. Violent Mog whipped out a few pouches of illicit substances, and the snorting sounds rumbled the heavens. It was like a coke nose kazoo symphony up in this shit. Theon was vexed by this cacophony, as he couldn't hear what Mr Incredible was saying. No doubt it was something inspirational. If only Mr Incredible was here right now, everything would be better!

The sesh was bubbling nicely, when all of a sudden, Milkshake burst through the door wearing his weapon hat. He had a banana in each hand, and boy was he holding them menacingly.

'Ayy, my monkey brother-in-arms!' cried Robin, a wee bit shaky on his feet, Budweiser sloshing around in his ivory drinking horn. 'I must say, this is a cracking establishment you've got here. And I must say, this is crack!' He held up some crack and ate it. 'Woo-argh!'

'Come and join us for a snort and a slosh!' wheedled Violent Mog, who was showing off how many jumping jacks he could do in twenty-three minutes. Yusef was not at all impressed by this show of athleticism, and instead turned back to his pure absinthe, drunk from a pineapple-shaped glass.

'Argh!' cried Milkshake, hooting and monkeying around. 'They have found me! They have found me!' What the lads did not know was that Milkshake, under the severe stress of finance, was hallucinating something fierce without even needing to have snorted some drugs! He was twitching and shaking and hooting and going monkey shit, because at his table, he did not see his former friends and traveling companions and their collective drug dealing associate, oh no! He saw, horror of horrors, the Sultans of Sin sitting around his kitchen table! Yes, the very vile deities that had swindled Milkshake's very soul all those years ago, in exchange for handing over the keys to a slightly shabby and mediocre B&B! Picture them now, misshapen half-formed entities from that land twixt light and shade, their faces rippling with waves of colour, sentient chiaroscuro coiling around their forms like ophidian devils, twisting and contorting into mockeries of human facial expressions. Atop their heads are bulbous turbans, the cloth (if it could be called cloth) ragged and torn and frayed at the edges. The deformed shapes of the turbans hint at the pulsing horrors that the Sultans hide beneath.

'I still have time! You said twelve years! Twelve years, you said, before you return to collect what is yours! I still have time!' shrieked Milkshake hysterically, believing himself to have been tricked in some bullshit Faustian pact and was now going to be swindled of some of his life by those dastardly Sultans of Sin. In reality, he was merely making a bit of an embarrassment of himself, and Robin didn't quite know how to handle this. I mean, he knew that bills were stressful, but surely they couldn't catalyse such animosity and hysteria in such a strong-willed monkey as Milkshake, right?

It is at this point where Milkshake runs across the room, throws his bananas to the ground whilst doing so, and grabs a machine gun from a nearby drawer (because y'know it is his B&B, he can keep his firearms where he wants, he can disregard all laws of health and safety). Someone shouts out, 'Oh shit, this is less than satisfactory!' But their noteworthy observations fell on deaf ears, because Milkshake was already firing the gun wildly, his monkey arm flailing with the ridiculous recoil. Everyone goes apeshit as the bullets fly through the air; pots shatter and spatulas are knocked off walls and clocks fall over and the lovely stylish banana wallpaper that Milkshake probably spent a lot of money on gets shredded to naught but tatters. Luckily, everyone dives under a conveniently knocked over table that happens to be varnished with bulletproof varnish. I mean, everyone important was alright. Theon got fucking mown down, but who even gives a shit, he'll probably be reinvigorated and rise again in like three seconds.

Yosef grabs his shot glass, which had conveniently rolled on the floor in front of him, and with expert aim he lobbed it in the direction of Milkshake. And whilst that would have been an impressive enough act (if a wee bit ineffectual, because shot glasses are infinitely less capable of fucking a man's shit up then a volley of machine gun bullets is), Yusef whips his gilded pineapple-engraved zippo lighter out of his inner suit pocket, ignites it, and lobs it over to the shot glass and its highly flammable alcoholic contents, setting both the glass and the liquor alight, and sending a torrent of flame right down on Milkshake's monkey head.

Unfortunately, Yusef did not realise that Milkshake was so fuelled with rage that he is immune to fire. How very contextual! So now they had a bigger problem on their hands: a monkey with a machine gun, but that monkey (and by extension the machine gun) is on FIRE! And you know what happens when a machine gun catches on fire? I mean I didn't, but the co-writer did, so apparently what happens is the machine gun fucking activates, and bullets explode everywhere! This already riddled-with-bullets room is getting further riddled with flaming bullets! All the shit that had been knocked over was now knocked over doubly so, and also set on fire just to add insult to injury. Everything was all bang-bang-pow, and so everyone ran out the fucking room (but not before stealing some alcohol off the table), including Milkshake, because he was not immune to bullets, only fire.

As Milkshake leapt dramatically out of a window into the little river that ran just below his B&B, he screamed out in anguish, 'YOU BASTARD SULTANS OF SIN!' But what Milkshake didn't realise was that, though his current envisioning of the infamous Sultans was naught but a stress-catalysed hallucination, the real Sultans were all too real, and always listening. Well I mean not always listening, because their whole thing is that they absorb people's souls in a gruesome and macabre fashion, and that shit is tiring bro. So in the time after they've absorbed a foolish mortal's soul, they take a serious power nap, which I suppose makes the foolish mortal feel even more insignificant when they know that the loss of their life and humanity and soul and shit is gonna be directly followed by the near-omnipotent deities having a wee little sleep. But you see, these Sultans are light sleepers; perhaps I would attempt to attribute this to some sort of vaguely offensive stereotype about sultans, but we don't know any. I mean my knowledge of sultans comes from Aladdin, but I doubt that these Sultans of Sin would be doing much ivory animal statue tower construction. Anyway, these Sultans are all about souls and shit, so whenever someone whose soul is tied to the Sultans invokes the Sultans by name, the Sultans are abruptly woken from their soul nap, and get their eldritch arses out of bed to reck havoc on the vague domain of the one who summoned them. Because these Sultans sure are some cantankerous characters! That's what they call me down at the pub, after I punched that child that one time! He shouldn't have been at the fucking pub if he didn't expect to be in a bar fight, that's what I always say!

Milkshake fell with a splash down into the waters of the gentle river to extinguish the flames and render his machine gun useless simultaneously, but the waters suddenly began to whirl and swirl in nasty weird fucking ways! The lovely waters, once sparkling and blue and stuff, remained sparkling and blue and stuff but were also now in nasty grabby hand shapes! And they grabbed and tugged at Milkshake in a nasty grabby fashion! And he shrieked and scowled and displayed his negative opinions of his current circumstances to the greatest extent, but alas, he could not stop the nefarious water hands!

He was held above the lake by the water hands, suspended above the lake in such a way where he was looking right at the lovely B&B. In front of him, whorls of serpentine shadow in the air began to twist and writhe like displeased sentient ribbons, forming into the malformed but undeniably TERRIFYING shapes of the three Sultans of Sin! We would have put actual effort into their descriptions here, but we totally did that already, so I ain't doing it here as well. They floated there, wearing their hastily put on bathrobes and slippers, and looked at Milkshake with their faceless faces somehow screwed into looks of tired contempt.

'MILKSHAKE, MILK MILKY SHAKE THE MONKEY', said the Sultans as one, their voices sounding kind of like someone doing a poor Antonio Banderas impression. 'YOU HAVE AWOKEN US FROM OUR… SLEEPY SLEEP. THE SLEEP OF SOULS. THE SOUL SLEEP. THE SLEEP FOR WHICH I SLEEP. SLEEP. FOR THAT I WILL STEAL YOUR SOUL DREAM. YOUR B&B. YOUR BED AND BREAKFAST WILL NOW BE DEAD AND BYE-BYE. NO BED AND NO BREAKFAST. DEAD BED. DEAD BREAKFAST. NO DREAM FOR YOU. BYE BYE.' And then they teleported away in a shroud of smoke. The water hands instantaneously crystallised and shattered, leaving Milkshake to tumble back into the lake, before swimming out again ready to stop these bastard Sultans.

Meanwhile, Theon awoke on a huge autumn leaf, suspended in an endless vaguely crimson void of endless floating leaves. Where were the leaves falling from? From what colossal universal tree did they fall from? Fuck knows. Jesus stood on the leaf opposite Theon, in the form of Gene Simmons, his hideously long tongue wrapped around his head like a balaclava. How could Theon tell it was Gene Simmons if his face was concealed, you may be asking. Well, Theon could tell due to Jesus Simmons' terrible opinions on music. Resounding throughout this world of slowly tumbling leaves was the song 'Rock and Roll All Night', as performed by an astral Gregorian choir.

'Rock is dead and so are you,' said Jesus, voice muffled due to his tongue being wrapped around his head. Jesus guffaws, a weird gurgling sound, before opening a small silver box. In the box is a small mechanical frog, which latches itself onto Theon's head and burrows into his flesh. Theon remains a frog throughout the rest of the conversation. This tiny frog on the giant leaf looked even more tiny and insignificant than if Theon were a tiny sprog on a giant leaf.

'What are you talking about?' croaked the insignificant Theon. 'Can you just bring me back to life?'

'Enough, you puppy hunter,' responded Jesus, a tone of resignation in his voice. 'You shall refer to me only as "Gav". Now, you will be reborn where you can do good. Because if you go back to the land where the Sultans hold sway, you will die repeatedly and I don't want to have to deal with that.'

Before Theon could say anything, like asking where he was going or why he was actually going there or how he could get back or what any of this has to with discovering any sort of meaning of Christmas, he found himself in a stinky swamp, secluded in a little grove of pastel-coloured trees. But more importantly, he found himself very mucky on account of being covered in swamp stuff! Pew-whee! He was absolutely covered in newts also! Unfortunately the newts later died, but that's a story for another time. Attempting to shake the mucky much off his wee sprog limbs with limp-wrist hand shakes, he clambered out of the newt swamp (fun fact: newts don't actually live in swamps) and made his way onto slightly drier land. There he found… a little man, only about three foot! His eyes were absolutely caked in turquoise and hot pink makeup, and he fluttered his eyes coquettishly. The rest of his body was completely covered with a flowing black robe, conspicuously free of the aforementioned mucky muck. 'Come with me, to the rumba-rumba,' he said in a surprisingly deep voice, which juxtaposed his dinky visage. Then he scampered off up a mucky tree stump, and Theon reluctantly followed as he continued to shake off the muck. Theon knows that if he does not obey what people tell him to do, it is likely that he will get hurt. I mean he may well get hurt anyway, because we hate him.

They climbed a hill, and holy shit! As it turns out, the 'rumba-rumba' was not some sort of exotic sex party - it was just a little village! All the houses were carved out of lovely pink mushrooms! I mean, not normal mushrooms; they were obviously fairly big mushrooms, just big enough for the three-foot village folk. Not like humungous mushrooms, that would be ridiculous.

'Oh, I see! "Rumba-rumba" means "village" in your language, yes?' asked Theon.

'Rumba-rumba, come with me,' said the village guy, who as it turns out can only say those two phrases. Theon couldn't even express his feelings in words, he just scrunched up his face and proceeded to follow Rumba-Rumba into the village. As they bumbled down into the mushroom town, the townsfolk, similarly clad in robes and ostentatious makeup, all gathered around in a star formation. They stared forward, their faces youthful and pale and unblinking. The crowd wordlessly parted, and a gangly cheetah man in full tracksuit shambled forward. (We need to stop including animal men). The cheetah man wields a large Easter Island head statue as a bludgeoning weapon, though as this is a time of peace, the statue was currently tied to his back with belts and twine.

'Ay Theon, it's you, innit?' said the cheetah man in the accent of a Medway chav. 'It's me, Tacky Gus. I ain't called that coz I'm tacky, I'm called that coz of my successful Blu Tac business, innit? Yeah, Jesus sent me here to tell you that the pirates are invading ere in like, err… forty-three seconds? Yeah, I'm gonna leave now, so you've got to deal with them, yeah? You've got to take care of these little three-foot people ere, yeah? Don't worry, there'll be these little twelve year olds in a biplane that'll come along to help you, but you're in charge of the three-foot people, yeah? Now don't try and speak to them, they won't understand you, but if you do say "rumba-rumba" to them they will get excited, yeah. Now I've got to dash now, yeah. Got to study philosophy and history at the same time, it's crazy shit, yeah?' And then Tacky Gus hopped into his burgundy Reliant Regal; as he started the engine, 'Capital Punishment' by Big Pun started up, and he slowly chugged away in his piece of shit car. Theon stood there gormlessly, as all the village folk stood there staring at him with their dead sad eyes.

Theon was about to say something before the entire village was blown the fuck up by cannonballs. He watched helplessly as the Rumbafolk got the shit blown the fuck out of them via pirate warfare. There were pirate cackles and shit everywhere, punctuated by flintlock fire and rum spillage. Holy shit! What can stop dear little cunt Theon from suffering the same fate? Well let me tell you. From the edge of this town came a loud cheer of sprogs, followed by the crowd of physical sprogs pushing a biplane ineffectually. Now on account of Peter Pan bullshit magic, these sprogs had remained as sprogs for many many years, as you could tell by the wisdom in their eyes (I mean Theon couldn't see this because the sprogs were running by hella quick, but fuck off); they wore gaudy raincoats and bucket hats, which somewhat contradicted the threat that they supposedly represented to the pirate uprising. The leader, however, was a lot more intimidating; he had brown insect legs that stuck awkwardly from his form (yes his orange raincoat accommodated the additional limbs), and a tiny white head with little beady staring eyes. This leader was known as Old J, so called because he is old (or I mean he's still a child but he's been a child for a long time) and has a fondness for the letter J (woah man, talk about nominative determinism!), but you won't find that out for a while yet.

Okay yes we do understand that this apparent action scene here is written in such a way that it lacks any semblance of excitement or action, on account of the reader not having seen the supposedly threatening pirates yet and the fact that the protagonists of this side-plot who are supposed to be valiant warriors or whatever have been introduced as they literally just waltz in from the left hand side. And I mean I guess I could go into a wee bit of detail about these pallid pirates with braided white beards and smouldering holes in their heads, and their imposing jet-black galleons, but it's hardly important at the moment because they're literally just about to be defeated offscreen. I guess you could interpret the laziness on my part as viewing the story from Theon's limited perspective, if for some reason you want to justify our shit writing.

With a shit load of off-screen fighting and yelling and cannon blasts and sprog antics, during which time Theon decided to cower behind a chunk of exploded mushroom masonry until the threat went away, the twelve-year olds had defeated the pirates and sent them running the fuck away again in their huge fuck-off boats (and that in itself is worth applauding, because these are some fucking big boats in a pretty small swamp river, so to escape with such haste and efficiency is most certainly praiseworthy). When Theon eventually crept out from behind his protective mushroom, he was greeted with the raincoat twelve year olds ready to greet him, their weapons held awkwardly in their wee sprog hands.

Old J stepped forward to greet Theon, rubbing his weird little insect hands together. Like you know that thing that flies do when they rub their hands together in a kind of nefarious manner? Yeah kind of like this. But Old J isn't a nefarious character, he was just washing his hands of sin so that he could properly address Theon, the one prophesied to come by Jesus, to possibly in some way help even though he's a terrible child.

'What the flippidy funk?' said Theon incredulously. 'What in the funk is going on here?'

'There is no translator in the world that can translate our thoughts. We all die alone.' Old J spoke without emotion.

'Oh ok', said Theon.

'Let's go kill a nasty pirate. Only one pirate. This pirates is the origin of all pirates.' Old J only really speaks in emotionless short sentences, he's a very intense hundred-year-old child.

Meanwhile, in the important story, the Sultans of Sin are teleporting all throughout the B&B, flipping over tables in anguish. Wherever they drift, black sand begins to pour from the walls and the air seems to shift and ripple in the wake of things that aren't truly there. The Sultans were most unhappy about the fact that they had been awoken abruptly and they wanted to take out their sleepy angst by wrecking this B&B, but Milkshake had already done a pretty good job at wrecking it before they'd even gotten there. So they strove to wreck the room even more, because y'know that's all they can be expected to do. As the Sultans used their arcane nastiness to beat up clocks and teapots and armchairs and stuff, they shouted at one another in their recognisably dumb voices. 'MURDER MURDER, DEATH DEATH, INFIDELS'. It is a most heinous scene and frankly I apologise that you, as the reader, have to bear witness to it. Honestly this neighbourhood has really gone down the shitter. If you vote for Politician-by-Heavenly-Appointment Puggins Sweaterson in the local election next month, we'll be sure to see an improvement in the crime rates in this town, that's for sure! But let's be honest, even the holy Sweaterson couldn't have articulated this shit. So you can deal with it.

Let us discuss the facial structure of Milkshake the monkey. He's a capuchin monkey, I think we've written already, but you may not know that his eyes are actually six inches apart. As he pulled himself out of the lake and ran the fuck into that B&B, he did a hop, a skip, and last but not least a stab into the back of one of them there Sultans. But this stab was ineffectual as fuck! Milkshake's already disgusting face went even more disgusting as it contorted in some negative emotion or another. It was an emotion that I would like to describe, as, _grungled_. It means sad. Oliver suggests that it is the sensation one experiences upon eating a wine gum (the red one), but fortunately Oliver is merely a figment of my imagination, and will hopefully fade away into my subconscious now that I have shouted him out. I wonder why my dogs bark at him when he doesn't exist? Hmm.

 _(Hopefully no one notices that it's been two months since we've done any work on this. We're jumping back in now.)_

Yusef, being the murder man that he is, reached into the soft squishy confines of his pineapple head, and pulled out twenty small fiddly parts of the same gun in quick succession, which he then assembled faster than you can say the word, 'proletariat'. I mean that's a five syllable word, but I don't see you assembling a gun in five syllables time! Yeah fuck you Reader, you racist. Yusef reached into his pocket (which is bigger than you'd assume, looking at how well-tailored his sweet suit is), and pulled out a dented tin capsule marked with a small note saying 'Special Bullets'. In this small capsule were such extravagant bullets as the Anti-Big-Monkey bullet (NOTE: THIS DOES NOT WORK ON SMALL MONKEYS!), the Bench-Freer-in-Central-London bullet (which is a bullet that you fire to make any bench in central London free), the Big Shitty Bullet, the Minotaur-with-a-Brooklyn-Accent bullet, the Gargling-Mayonnaise bullet, and of course, the FUCK OFF SAND BULLET. Bingo! Yusef loaded that bullet into his gun, and with a satisfying *pop* fired that bitch into the knotted nasty turban of the nearest Sultan. With a hollow screech that rapidly lowered in volume like a cat being chucked down a laundry chute, the shot Sultan, of course being a rather sandy character, got definitively told to fuck off, and was helpless to the call as his sandy body sagged and crumpled and sizzled away, kind of like what happens to a bit of litmus paper when you piss on it. (In order to save you wasting bits of litmus paper, I should specify right now that according to my experiments (and a quick Google search), piss is at about a 6 on the pH scale. You're welcome).

The Sultan, having been forcibly fucked off back to whatever foul dusty palace realm that it usually chills in, had lowered the number of Sultans from three to two. Wait wasn't this building on fire earlier? Did we specify that the Sultans probably extinguished that with sand? I don't remember at all. I'm not going to go back and check. I can guarantee that in like ten years when I re-read all this marvellous fiction we have created, I'll be pissed off by this here possible discrepancy. To future me, and to the reader, I say, 'fuck off'. Anyway the remaining Sultans were less than pleased with the fact that their bro had been ejected from this reality via oddly specific bullet, and now made to advance on the remaining geezers.

'Wow, that was crazier than my economics class!' said Robin with a laugh.

'Quick, Yusef, fire more of those oddly specific bullets!' screamed Milkshake.

'I do not have any more of those bullets,' said Yusef, patting his pockets in order to check this fact.

'Quick lads, let us abscond with dignity!' shouted Robin, though such a statement was redundant as everyone was already running the fuck away.

As Robin looked around at all of his comrades and noted that they had already bailed, he was rudely interrupted when one of the surviving Sultans of Sin jabbed him so hard with one gnarly clawed hand that the arm went right the fuck through Robin's chest and out of his back. Robin, using pure charm and charisma, delivers a rakish grin so powerful that the shine off of his teeth temporarily blinds the bastard Sultan. Taking swift advantage of this window of opportunity, he lurches the Sultan's arm out of his own chest and snaps it in half like a twig. Because the Sultans are like bare old, and it's bare easy to hurt old people with brittle bones. Remember this if you ever need easy money. Robin then head butts the Sultan in its puffy turban so fucking hard that it splits like a soggy beanbag, and sand starts seeping out like sludge from a squashed frog. (Editor's note: if you want to see more visceral squashed frog action, go read Whiskers and Wheels chapter BLANK. Oh what's that, we didn't tell you the exact chapter? Well you better go read it all then.)

The Sultan was not too pleased about being smacked across the big fat head, and so in a trickle of sand skedaddled out of there. He was weakened, but not yet defeated! He would go and lick his sand wounds, which I can't imagine would be very nice because he'd have like a sandy tongue and that'd just be no fun at all. Imagine licking like one of those huge elaborate well-built sandcastles you see at sandcastle making contests. Imagine locking eyes with the creator of said sandcastle as you violate it with your tongue right in front of his sad tearful eyes.

Yusef, Milkshake and Violent Mog were hiding in a pillow fort. They could hear the last Sultan approaching them, though how they could have done this is a mystery, considering that he floats. Violent Mog, in his infinite drug dealer wisdom, decided to shuffle out of the pillow fort in a clandestine method. Shuffle shuffle he went on his belly, and as soon as he straightened himself up with a smile on his face, he was inconvenienced when he was riddled with the bullets of a submachine gun. Held in the hand of the remaining undamaged Sultan. Because magic is tiring I guess. The recoil of the gun must have been hell on his aching limbs and rheumatism or whatever the fuck else old people get. Violent Mog fell to the floor, the amethyst embedded in his skull making a satisfying clonk on the ground as he did so.

'Oh shit, what should we do?' whispered Milkshake, content in the knowledge that there was no way in hell that the Sultan could hear him whispering from inside the pillow fort.

Yusef was not paying attention, for he was methodically cleaning his gun at the speed of sound. Yusef was thinking to himself how easy it would be to shoot Milkshake right now; killing these geezers and collecting the bounty was literally the entire reason he was here. But there was also some sort of fucked-up magic man outside, and that was arguably the more important threat to eliminate first. There'd be other opportunities for murder yet.

Doing some sweet gun assembly montage, he aimed in a seemingly random direction out of the pillow fort and squeezed the trigger. What followed was a series of comic ricochet sound effects, followed by the sound of a sandbag being punctured and a Spanish yelp. Because of course Yusef had calculated the exact path that the bullet would take and, through a series of convoluted ricochets, would hit the Sultan right in the back of his nasty Sultan head. Unfortunately these were not the oddly contextual bullets that proved to be so effective earlier, but it was enough to elicit an unexpected shout of mild irritation from that cunt Sultan.

Yusef exploded from the pillow fort, scattering gaudy banana-coloured cushions everywhere as he leapt forward in a dramatic action pose. Arm outstretched, he fired his gun as quickly as his pineapple fingers could twitch, but though the bullets left large holes in the form of the Sultan that would have been devastating in any lesser life form, sand swelled and whorled to fill the gaps left by the bullets. Yusef ran past the Sultan who whipped around and slithered after him as he high-tailed it down the corridor. The pineapple bounty hunter spun around and fired at an overhead fluorescent light fixture, sending shards of glass and spark-spewing electrics raining down on the Sultan, but this did not stop its pursuit. Some other action shit occurred, involving gun spinning and exploding police cars and one roundhouse kick that was disappointingly ineffectual.

Eventually, Yusef found himself in a cramped kitchenette, his back to the wall, the Sultan advancing on him. His clip was empty, but he was fucked if he was going to die fighting some bullshit supernatural entity that he'd only been aware of the existence of for like twenty minutes. He started flinging open cupboard doors searching for anything that could potentially be repurposed as a weapon, and as luck would have it, he found a wee dinky cupboard tucked away in a corner. And what was in that corner, behind a mop and bucket and emergency jetpack? Why, a shelf full of hand grenades, used by Milkshake for cleaning out his sink. How very convenient! Of course, using hand grenades for any purpose other than the socially acceptable use of sink cleaning was most unethical and frowned upon by all hard-working citizens, but Yusef was one unscrupulous character!

The Sultan walked in, and Yusef handed him a hand grenade, and the Sultan, being one greedy goose, accepted it blindly, without seeing what it was! You silly ninny, it was a hand grenade with no pin! Oh you daft sod! Look, now it's exploded, and you're dead! And serious structural damage has been done to the B&B! And Yusef has been launched right the fuck out of the exploded hole in the building, to drift slowly down the lazy winding river! Better luck next time, you dastardly scoundrel!

Robin looked at the display of chaos and general shittiness around him with a big happy grin on his face. 'Now this is what I call a pretty piff party!' he exclaimed. 'Why, I haven't had this much fun since the Holy War! Oh, the screams were delicious! Haha!'

'This looks to be an unprecedented disaster of gigantic proportions,' said the thing in the bin. Yeah he's still here, don't acknowledge him. Robin sure didn't. He continued talking.

'Right now chums, now we've got this little bamboozle sorted out, let's go find the meaning of Christmas! Haha!' He looked around for the sprog that he was supposed to be guiding, and couldn't find him. 'Oh shit, where's the sprog?'

'Here I am,' said Theon, climbing out of a tupperware box. 'Jesus swept me away to go do an errand. I had to go defeat a pirate king. He appeared through a swarm of tittybats and had a big flaming hole in the middle of his head. There were children there with insect hands. I sorted it out though, don't worry.'

'That sounds significantly more interesting than what we went through,' said Robin, giving Theon an infernal noogie that set Theon's scalp ablaze. 'Now this had nothing to do with Christmas, so go to sleep until we arrive in Christmas Land.' Robin then put Theon in a chokehold until he passed out, at which point he was dropped on the floor and rolled along in the direction they were going in.

'Ere, where's Milkshake?' asked Robin.

'HERE HE IS, INFIDELS!' shrieked a Spanish accent! Holy shit, it was the injured Sultan! His name was Snooki, but the characters don't know that, so you as a reader are privy to some wacky new info! Count yourselves lucky! Snooki floated out all dramatic-like, and held in his nasty telekinetic sand grip was, horror of horrors, Milkshake! With one limp-wristed shake, Snooki summoned one nasty motherfucking SAND JAGUAR, which is the coolest shit. I want the sand jaguar to be a main character. Anyway the sand jaguar latches on to the vague air around Milkshake and starts wigging the fuck out, like proper going primal and shit, and Milkshake's luminescent banana-yellow soul began to drift and be dragged out of Milkshake's body! Even his soul hat joined him! (Okay fine, the hat is a karakul. I know you've all been fucking asking us this. And I know there was one fucking email saying, 'Hey Kim, you sexy man, what kind of hat does Milkshake have? I hope it's not a karakul.' Well fuck you Jake from Shropshire, it's a fucking karakul). The sand jaguar ripped this rancid monkey soul out of the floppy monkey body, and Snooki started laughing in Spanish. The noise he made was something like 'si si si si senoritaaaa!' There was maraca accompaniment.

'Ah… shit.' said Robin. 'That's bad. Don't do that.'

But it was already done.

And so Snooki said, 'AHAHA FUCK YOU WE HAVE HIS SOUL. IF YOU WANT IT BACK THEN YOU HAVE TO COMPETE IN THE CHALLENGE THAT WE ANCIENT SPANIARDS CALL 'EL RETO DELICIOSO'.'

'Oh fuck, that sounds Spanish.'

'Yeah but we should do it though. I know Spain can be scary, but we need to save our monkey friend!'

(Who are these two people talking? I don't know. I think it's just Robin talking to himself.)

'Yeah okay we'll do your challenge, even though the Spanishness of it scares us!' This was also Robin.

The thing in the bin offered no comment. I mean even if it did, we don't fucking care about what it has to say.

So they agreed to do the challenge, and we'll skip over the boring bits here, because it basically involves a long business trip to space Spain, and then they were made to sit in a room for twenty four hours with a box of Crunchy Nut cereal, and they weren't allowed to eat it. And I mean it was kind of difficult, but they managed it pretty easily. Robin might have eaten the entire box, but no one really even noticed. The Sultans have got better shit to be getting on with.

So then they all got out again. And Milkshake's soul was forcibly put back into his horribly deformed monkey body via jaguar. Everyone all stood and looked at Milkshake discernible, very annoyed at him for putting them all through that shit, when he could have instead just done the Crunchy Nut Challenge and no one would have had to have died.

'Hooray!'

'Hooray!'

'Hooray!'

BANG.

Milkshake's brains exploded all over the walls like a Pollock painting. Theon threw up, Robin screamed, the thing in the bin silently weeped, but he had been weeping the entire time because he was lonely.

They all looked up, and Yusef was standing there with a big fucking gun. He had shot Milkshake. Fuck.

THERE WE ARE

OK HOLY FUCKING SHIT

WE STARTED WRITING THIS ON THE 19TH OF APRIL

IT IS NOW THE 8TH OF JULY

SO YEAH THIS WAS NOT WORTH IT

MAYBE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE GOOD

NEVER TALK TO ME AGAIN BRUH


	5. Chapter 5 - I'll Have That With Fries

WHAT'S UP FUCKHEAD

YOU SHITBIRD

NOW THAT ALL THAT'S OUT THE WAY, BE PREPARED TO BE SURPRISED BY SOME NEW CONTENT

KA-PO-POW!

THIS WEEK WE'RE GONNA BE DELVING INTO SOME DARK TERRITORY, LIKE HEADFIRST INTO IT, JUST LIKE WHEN A BABY'S BORN, HEAD FUCKIN' FIRST RIGHT OUTTA THAT FANNY

WE HAD AN ANALOGY FOR THIS BUT IT DIDN'T MAKE SENSE AND WAS DISGUSTING

TIME FOR WORDS

Chapter 5 - I'll Have That With An Order Of Fries _(or)_ The Biscuit People of Ramsgate

Milkshake is dead. No ifs, no buts, he is a dead monkey. The voices in my head tell me that now, in post-mortem, I should only refer to him as Monkey-Boy in order to honour his legacy. You can accept this if you wan't, but due to the fact that many people (myself included) do not like this decision, I will sporadically alternate between the names because I don't care enough to stick with just one. Consistency is for flangecunts.

'What the shit?' yelled Robin. 'Is that a toffee tree?!'

Yusef, amazed at the frankly wonderful concept of a toffee tree, whipped around to see it. Maybe after killing his targets, he could relax with some nice refreshing confectionary! But oh, he had been tricked! Just as Robin Hood once tricked the Sheriff of Nottingham into not being such a bad bloke, and once tricked Maid Marian into marrying him through a devious ploy known as 'twelfth century pregnancy guilt', Yusef had been tricked by the trickster who was so damn tricky, they have to refer to him with a capital 'T'! And a capital 'R'! Because his name isn't… TOBIN TOOD! (The voices in my head made a horrible fucking snorting sound at that. It wasn't even a fucking joke).

An arrow fucking flew into Yusef's back. It was an arrow fired by Robin, by the way. Not just some random arrow. Yusef fell to the floor, and would have exclaimed in shock were it not for the fact that he's like an effortlessly cool silent killer, and so he probably just muttered something to himself before taking a shot of vodka like a badass. And worst of all, there wasn't even a toffee tree!

'Huzzah!' yelled Robin, waving his bow and arrows in the air.

'What in the name of all that is bambly are you 'huzzah'-ing about?' yelled the incredulous child Theon, his fidget spinners spinning like crazy. 'Our dear simian friend has just gone to the eternal sleep land! And you have just committed a major boo-boo on our dear friend Yusef!'

'No friend would shoot a monkey! That is the first rule of friendship!' Robin was a rational man. 'Anyone who in any way shoots a monkey relinquishes all rights to any possible friendships in the future. Ask my lawyer.'

'I believe that Yusef has committed a betrayal!' said… someone. We've really fucked up here with our cast of characters. Like it was funny for a while to kill off one cast member every chapter, but now we've run out of cast members. Like Robin is a fucking idiot, Theon is a terrible sprog and also a fucking idiot, and we made an explicit point to make sure that no one ever listens to the thing in the bin. Anyway, someone certainly said that.

'Hmm! Yusef wouldn't do anything like that! He must be possessed!' Robin slapped his knee with glee that he had clearly figured out the only possible explanation for what transpired.

Yusef then shakily stood upright, snapping the arrow off and throwing it to the ground in distaste. 'You despicably dense motherfu-'

He was then shot with another arrow. It pierced right through his fucking pineapple head, approximately where a pineapple might keep its brain. Pineapple juice splattered everywhere as Yusef, arms outstretched, fell backwards. Of course, we are not at liberty to discuss where a pineapple may or may not keep its brain. We would not claim to have that knowledge, and we would certainly not abuse this knowledge for nefarious purposes, should we hypothetically possess it.

'Don't worry, it was just a tranquilliser arrow!' Robin said with a smile. 'Okay then lads, we now have two things that we have to be dealing with. No wait, three things. First, we must travel to the Land with the Hot, and get back our friendly monkey compadre! Then en route we probably ought to exorcise that bastard possessing spirit geezer attached itself nefariously to our dear friend Yusef! And also that whole meaning of Christmas malarkey!'

'But how are we gonna get to the afterlife?!' wailed Theon, apparently forgetting that he had been brought back to life many times in like the past couple days.

'Ah, well Theon, isn't it obvious? Copious amounts of mescaline!'

'Oh. This sounds dark.'

Then the world went dark for him. Fortuitous timing! When the lights went up again, he found himself in some sort of Japanese school classroom, crimson wailing spirits sailing past just outside the window. Jesus was there, slightly off to the left, fucking about with the light switch like the dramatic diva he is. He had manifested in the form of a questionably dressed Japanese schoolgirl, with a full Jesus beard.

'What's up, b-b-b-buddy!' sung Jesus. Theon did not like this situation.

'So I heard you're trying to get into the Land of the Hot, eh?'

'Oh man. Are you gonna try and stop me from taking drugs? Like a good role model?'

'What? Fuck off nerd, that's the only way to get to the Land of the Hot. I mean unless you're a spicy soul, or you get an invite from a Spicy Señorita.'

'Okay then what do you want? Because y'know Jesus, I'm kind of busy.'

'My oh my, you're getting to be quite the cheeky Chico!' laughed Jesus, as he slapped Theon four times around the face. 'Now, I happen to know that in the Land of the Hot is a certain Sir of the Spice. His name? El Satan. And I need you to deliver him something from me.'

Jesus snapped his fingers, and a piece of paper appeared in his hand in a cloud of glitter. He ceremoniously handed it to Theon, who took it reluctantly. Upon examining the paper, he saw that all that was on the paper was the words 'fuck you' written in delicate blackletter.

'Okay go away now, I never wanted you here,' said Jesus, slapping Theon back into the real world. Robin was cracking open a peyote cactus, and emptying its mescaline contents onto a fold-out table.

'I mean, err, did you just have that on you, or what?' asked Theon, rubbing his face where he'd been slapped by Christ.

'Oh, haha, no. I keep it all in… THE BOX.' His eyes betrayed him by drifting over slyly to the boot of his car. I'm sure that won't be important later on. 'Now stick that there mescaline pill in your keyhole and we'll be on our way to Spice Town in no time!'

 _Let it sink in that we're writing a story in which a twelve year old boy takes class A drugs in the desert. Did we specify that they're in the desert? How did they end up there? Good question. Let's assume that whilst all of this was going down, they walked there._

Theon took those drugs super hard. Robin did the same. The thing in the bin did them too, why the fuck not. Unfortunately, the lads didn't realise that mescaline probably wasn't the best drug in the world to take, on account of it taking like two hours for the effects to actually hit you. Now this raises several questions; here are a few of them. Why did Robin recommend it in the first place if he didn't know how long it takes for the effects to take hold? Did he actually know how mescaline works? And if he didn't, why oh why did he just so happen to have a special box, so special that it was written in all caps, solely for the purpose of storing it? These are all good questions.

'We should take all the drugs', said Robin sagely. 'Speed up the process. Milkshake is in danger, dontcha know. We gotta go save him.'

'Cool it hombre, you're really harshing on my mellow', drawled Theon. The drugs appeared to have catalysed a transformation in him, as he had lapsed into another youth stereotype. We're not quite sure what this stereotype is, but trust us it's totally legit; those youths of today are always chattering with this here lingo!

Robin attached a large tube and funnel to his ominous drug crate, and fed himself many drugs, just slurped them all up like a voracious swine going to town on his gruel trough. Theon and the thing in the bin did the same, though perhaps with more teenage rebellion and unimportant-ness, respectively. Many many drugs. Too many drugs. We're reiterating this so as to justify what happens next.

Theon looked at Robin, and was about to address the fact that not much was happening when Robin's face started melting into sloppy chicken grease before his eyes. The features slid down his face in tidal waves of glistening slop, tinted with an oily shimmer and emanating a pungent aroma of fried chicken that clogged Theon's sinuses and crept into his brain like an insidious octopus. He looked at the bin and saw that it had malformed into a soupy puddle like a Dali clock, and before he knew it he felt his own eyes sliding slowly down his face; try as he might to push his semi-liquid face back into shape, he was helpless to the transition from solid man to dripping grease margarine. This truly was harshing on his mellow.

As he melted in one plane, he reemerged in another. He looked to his grinning companion and also spared a curt glance at the bin, and then marvelled at the landscape that now surrounded him.

Viddy this, lads. Big ole fuckin' plateau, yeah, all sandstone pillars and half-demolished statues everywhere. A blistering orange sky. Pits of bubbling golden grease and scarlet hot sauce; in it sit spicy souls, around it dance grinning devils from old timey cartoons, clutching comically oversized cutlery. Pitch black shrieking roosters flying around everywhere, their caw-caws being oddly in time with the loud fucking Mexican music that is apparently constantly playing. Fucking fire everywhere, watch out for it. Holy shit, they'd made it to the fabled LAND OF THE HOT! Or is it Land WITH the Hot? I forget. And if I've forgotten, obviously you have as well.

'Wow', they all said. 'It's pretty fuckin' hot here.'

'Might be too hot.'

'Hmm.'

'Nah, not hot enough for me!' said Robin with a cheeky grin as his skin started to crackle and sizzle.

As Theon and the thing watched Robin grin inanely as his face started to melt, a goblin fucking sprinted up to them. The goblin was small, about four-foot tall, custard-coloured, and for some difficult-to-explain reason had a frightening resemblance to British actor Keith Allen. 'Greetings, spicy strangers!' boomed the goblin in a voice that contrasted his frankly pathetic stature. 'I am the informal Sheriff around these parts! But don't mind me, I'm just doing my job, y'know? Keeping the peace, y'know? I'm not, y'know, a dirty cop! Although I am a pretty spicy cop, if you know what I mean! Aha!'

Robin, face still curled into an unsettling grimace as his skin, now resembling a pork scratching, continued to smoke and sizzle, curb stomped the Sheriff into an uneven area of plateau (I mean technically that would mean it is no longer a curb stomp, but fuck off). The Sheriff was not a fan of this, although his mood perhaps darkened even further when Robin popped off his hooked goblin nose and stuck it into the goblin's hooked mouth, as he hummed heroic music to himself. The goblin lay on the floor, feeling rather downtrodden (lol, literally and figuratively).

Robin stared at his friends, still grinning. 'Steal from the rich, give to the poor!' he said, chortling to himself.

Theon and the thing in the bin looked at the scene in front of you. 'Woah grandad, you're really jibbing down my jongle-jangs,' said Theon sagely.

'How does what you did in any way benefit either the rich or the poor?' asked the thing in the bin. 'Not only do we not know of this goblin's own economic status - i.e. whether this goblin was rich or poor - but no money has changed hands here. In fact, nothing has changed hands; you just took off his nose and gave it back to him, albeit in an unorthodox and unnecessarily brutal way.' GUESS THE FUCK WHAT, HE WAS IGNORED. These jokes aren't getting predictable at all. Don't worry, we'll spice up the character eventually, pun very much intended. Maybe we'll have it start quantum leaping, fuck it.

'STAY WHERE YOU ARE!' shouted a burbling voice from not-so-far away. The lads all looked up and were surprised to see two taco men - that is to say, humanoids made out of taco material, their skin either squishy tortillas or that weird yellow taco material, their hair little bits of meat accoutred with guac. They wore standard-issue Land of the Hot police uniforms, which are of course leather trousers with fire decals on the bottom, and police caps with the words 'top cop' printed on them.

'FREEZE!' shouted the one closest, whose cheeks were soggy with the meat within. 'Or should I say… BURN!' The cops laughed and high-fived, their inner meats sloshing with the impact. I'm gonna say that again because it's funny to me: _the sloshing of the inner meats_.

'Oh shit, it's the rozzers!' said Theon, thinking back to the time that he stole half a packet of gum from the corner shop and wondered if he would hold up to questioning when interrogated for this heinous crime. Robin continued singing about mead and wenches.

'Now we can do this the easy way, or the hard way,' said the tortilla cop, holding his hands out placatingly. 'Me, I'm just trying to get home to my wife, but my partner here… he's a loose cannon, you don't want to mess with him. You're guac-ing with the wrong cops, y'hear?!'

'Let me tell you, lads: for me it's always the hard way!' cried Robin, reaching for his trouser zipper. Before he could pull it down, his already ruined face was smacked with a flare, fired from the flare gun of the yellow-crunchy-taco cop, his face curled into a nasty grimace. 'THAT'S IT, YOU'RE COMING IN FOR QUESTIONING! WE'LL SEE HOW YOU DEAL WITH… MORE FLARES!' Everyone got flares right up their respective gunches.

When Theon woke up, he appeared to be in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a table (there was a little rooster statue on the far side of the table, to signify that the table was in use). The two taco cops, who Theon intuited were called Officer Mild and Officer Spicy, were standing in front of him; Officer Mild had his head in his hands, eyes imploring them to tell him what they knew, whilst Officer Spicy was leaning against the wall, looking menacing as only the spicy cop can. Robin was sitting next to him, a smoking crater in his head from where the flare had clobbered him, blabbering on about vigilante justice and the rights of a folk hero. Presumably the bin was also there, but who even cares about that.

'Now, knowing that you lunatics are loose on the streets of the Land of the Hot sickens me,' Officer Mild was saying. 'Now I'm a reasonable taco, I've told you that. But let me tell you, there's two… no, there's _four_ ways that this can go. We can do this the lemon and herb way, the mild way, the hot way, or the extra hot way. You want this to go the lemon and herb way?' He slammed his slosh fist on the table top. 'Do you?'

Theon looks around awkwardly, making sure that his friends wouldn't judge him for what he was going to say. 'Umm… I can really only stomach the medium…'

Everyone was in shock. The lit cigarette fell from Officer Spicy's now agape mouth; as his mouth stayed open, another cigarette slid down his tongue and out of his mouth, until he shut it again.

'Now…' began Officer Mild. 'I knew that you were criminals. But that… that beggars belief.'

'Nah, nah, hold on. You've got it all wrong.' He suddenly began to cry. 'It was only half a packet of gum! It was only half a packet of gum!'

Officer Spicy took this moment to come over and begin slamming his fist on the table as well. Both Officers were now angrily slamming their fists on the table. 'Don't you get it, kid?! We ain't talkin' about no stick o' gum, we're talking about MURDER! What made you think you could come gallivantin' into our town, with your records, and start causin' trouble?! You're lookin' at the harshest punishment we have here, you're lookin' at hard time, kid…'

Theon gulped to himself; Officer Spicy was so close, he could smell the aromatic meat and fag smoke on the cop's breath. 'Hungry, Hungry Humans.'

Suddenly, a merry jingle began to sound over the tannoy system, and, with one final menacing glare, the two taco cops departed, slamming the door behind them.

'W-what was that?' asked Theon, still shaken from his interrogation.

'Phew!' said Robin, wiping away imaginary sweat off of his head whilst continuing to remain fully ignorant of the fact that he didn't really have a face. 'Looks like we were saved by the Taco Bell!' It is at this point when everyone grinned at an invisible camera, and the laugh track faded the show out.

'What does that mean?' asked Theon, snapping the story out of some stupid sitcom ending.

Robin did not answer, for he had already ripped the handcuffs off of their little table hook device thing, on account of the handcuffs being made out of taco meat. Ignore the fact that the taco people's insides are taco meat, and so what has essentially happened in this taco police precinct is that their handcuffs are like their intestines or something.

'Come on, let's bust this joint', said Robin, kicking the doors down and striding away, leaving his companions no choice but to follow suit. They walked out the back door of the precinct after sneaking past the tacos, who were occupied by watching someone ring a bell for some reason only known to tacos.

As it turns out, right outside the police precinct in the Land of the Hot appeared to be a absolutely humungous gladiatorial colosseum. And so obviously the lads were going to go there. Robin has got a hankering for adventure, and what's more assumed that an event in the Land of the Hot that required a venue of this magnitude must have been a pretty spicy affair - maybe a spicy hot dog eating contest? - and there's a high chance that their monkey compadre may well be at such an event! Monkeys do indeed love hot dogs, this has been scientifically proven by some scientists with questionable credentials. Robin once knew a scientist who believed that if you ate twenty leeches a day, you would feel sad; that scientist didn't have a credential to his name, but you know what, Robin would be damned if that wasn't a true goddamn statement!

They all marched into the colosseum through some giant fucking doors; Theon briefly noticed a large neon sign outside proclaiming the raucous events within, but couldn't get a good look at it on account of him being distracted by his fidget spinners. However, when he walked in and saw the vista before him, it wasn't just his fidget spinners that were spinning! No, it was also his head, that was spinning! Midget spinners! Get it? Theon is small!

Surrounding him were a shit load of seats, and all of said seats were occupied by the Land of the Hot's spiciest spectators. Skeletons wearing Hawaiian shirts and sneakers, little dancing devils, hulking mechanical monstrosities with BBQs for heads, sausage men and burger boys and lots and lots of greasy greasy geezers! At the head of it all was El Satan himself, the corpulent red baron sitting atop his throne of Rob Zombie albums, stroking his horseshoe moustache casually, watching the events unfold in THE PIT. But what was happening in the pit, Theon wondered? He looked into THE PIT, and saw a huge greasy lava pit, in which… what was that? Giant humanoid ochre hippopotamuses, charging hither and thither through the knee-deep lava like pissed-off rugby players?! No, wait, on closer inspection, Theon noticed with his youthful wizard eye that these were actually giant men in fireproof hippopotamus costumes! GASP! This wasn't Hungry Hungry Hippos at all! No, this was Hungry Hungry Humans! All the pieces were falling into place! But what are they hungry hungry for? Large pearly marbles, apparently. They were eating them up with surprising voracity considering that men really shouldn't be eating marbles. Still, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely at this here spectacle.

'Ok, there's El Satan', said Theon, pointing at El Satan. 'I'm just going to give him this note.' And off Theon went. Apparently the lads had all managed to walk past security, despite having literally just broken out of prison, and was now going to attempt to pass literally thousands of screaming monstrous spicy folk in order to get to the biggest baddest devil around, and give him a note that literally just insulted him. In any other setting, or for any other character, this would make Theon a badass. Unfortunately Theon was completely unaware of the complete and utter badassery of his actions, because he was too busy playing with his many fidget spinners.

'Well okay then, I'll go and fulfil those other two things that we were supposed to be doing!' said Robin brightly. 'Come along, thing in a bin!' Robin scanned the horizon from atop a pole that he'd clumsily parkoured onto, and something interesting caught his eye. There was a skeleton there who wasn't wearing any sunglasses or snazzy tourist clothing, but he did appear to be wearing quite an interesting hat, and was standing proudly holding a peach! And what's more the skeleton was a monkey skeleton! This certainly seemed like compelling evidence! Robin would have to just saunter on down there, as soon as he could get back down from the pole that he had climbed. He felt like that one seventeen year old at Reading 2017 who climbed a pole at the Eminem gig and then couldn't get down again. OUTDATED REFERENCES!

Theon rolled up to the arm of El Satan's throne on his heelies. 'Aye-aye, daddy-o!' he said with a wily grin. 'I've got this little note for yo, bro!' He handed over the letter, and El Satan took it from him. El Satan squinted it at it, then put on his reading glasses, then tried again, then took off his reading glasses to clean the lenses, then tried again. Then he got angry and started shouting about pendejos and gringos, and threw Theon into the sky! OH SHIT! Theon's cockiness was nowhere to be found as he flew through the sky and he was brought to justice, as, as was the punishment dictated by the taco law enforcement, he landed splat-bang into the spicy mire of THE PIT! The heated lava burning his wee toesies, he skipped and pranced like a drunkard on hot coals to the nearest hippo man, and clambered onto its rough hippo hide. The hippo man seemed unfazed by this, as Theon was not a pearl to be eaten, and hippo men think only of their bottomless bellies and the delicious allure of a tasty pearl. And so he set off again, fucking charging along through the greasy muck in search of more pearls, leaving Theon to cling on like a sloth clinging to a raging quad bike. What a vaguely life-threatening and ultimately avoidable predicament! Curse you, Jesus!

Robin had managed to get down from the pole, but at the cost of the lives of two burger boys who were unfortunate enough to cushion his fall. Robin leapt up away from the ground beef that was now splattered against the public seating and began lurching over the seating towards that desirable skeleton!

Theon found himself being lobbed into the sky, bucked off of the hippo man's back like he was a disobedient miscellaneous object in a giant's game of _Spüüklevich_ (don't ask - I still don't know the rules to this fucking game), before sailing back to earth and landing atop the back of another hippo man! This hippo man was fucking belting it through the muck, and the impact of him colliding with yet another hippo man sent Theon into the sky yet again! Here he was, a lead buffeted by the winds of fate, his life as a normal sprog literally resting on the shoulders of numerous hippo men strangers with a proclivity for impromptu scrums! How oh how would he get out of this spicy situation?!

Just as Robin was about to make it to the monkey in his mirror, he was stopped by… okay have you ever played the game Meaty Boner? Imagine that, but with chicken meat instead of like regular meat. I realise that literally no one has played this game, but it was an alright game when I was like eleven or whatever; it is a shit game, but for the sake of understanding this references maybe you ought to go check it out. At the risk of tarnishing your internet history with what is a) a dodgy title, and b) a vaguely shitty game.

Anyway, M-Bone started chattering his skeleton teeth and dripping his chicken grease, and started yammering in a voice prone to cackling, 'You menace! You brute! You foul beast! You swine! How could you throw away such prime burger life with such indifference?! You fiend!'

Robin knew this sort of animosity; why, this meaty bone boy must be the blighter who was terrorising their good pineapple bobby Yusef! For only those in touch with their darker warlock sides could ever construe Robin as doing anything but the good of the realm (or at least the plebs), and thus with one powerful swipe of his karate-chop hand, he cleft this meaty menace in two, and left him as two gibbering piles of meaty bones on the floor! 'Milkshake, my simian pal!' cried out Robin. 'Milkshake!'

The skeleton monkey heard this commotion, and continued to stand proudly. Robin was unsure as to whether or not this proud monkey skeleton holding a peach really was his true friend; if not, then he'd just made a mighty tit of himself, and that surely wouldn't be any good whatsoever. He needed a sign. Anything! Give me a sign!

The monkey skeleton fucking lobbed his peach into the arena. Hooray, the day was saved! The gang all walked out of the colosseum with their heads held high and laughter in their hearts! Milkshake was back to being a regular monkey again, Yusef was ostensibly cured of that disease or whatever the fuck they claimed him to have, and the thing in the bin Quantum Leaped!

BUT WHO DID HE QUANTUM LEAP WITH?!

WE'LL FIND OUT NEXT WEEK

AND WE DO MEAN 'NEXT WEEK' THIS TIME, NO MORE YEAR LONG HIATUSES

WINKY WINKY WINK

UHM UUHMMM UHM UUHHMMM UHM? YEAH THAT'S MY MESSAGE

HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE US TO STOP CARING? THE FACT THAT WE EVEN BOTHERED TO COME BACK TO THIS TO FINISH THIS CHAPTER SAYS TOO MUCH ABOUT US

WE NEED RESPECT GODDAMNIT

OKAY SO WE'RE ONLY GOING TO WRITE THREE MORE CHAPTERS OF THIS

AND YOU AS THE READER HAVE THE FUN TASK OF TRYING TO GUESS WHICH OF THE CHAPTERS WE WILL HAVE WRITTEN DRUNK

BECAUSE IT WAS REALLY WELL HIDDEN LAST STORY

ANYWAY WE'RE PROUD TO ANNOUNCE THAT ONCE THIS IS FINISHED, WE'LL BE STARTING WORK ON OUR NEW PROJECT: 'GONDOLAS IN UNEXPECTED PLACES'

SO YEAH LOOK FORWARD TO THAT READER

IT WILL BE BETTER

BYE~~ (UNTIL NEXT WEEEK)


	6. Chapter 6 - (Mr) Paddy (Marbles)

(we're going to break our usual formula a bit here and jump straight in)

Chapter 6 - Paddy

The choking miasma of fog and smoke was so thick and impenetrable that you could be mistaken for not seeing the corpses. But there they were, piled high in the fetid muck underfoot, skulls and limbs and unrecognisable extremities, covered in mud and shit and nastiness. Through the fog, one might be able to make out the hazy silhouettes of the BONE BOYS, going about the arduous yet apparently necessary job of clearing away the refuse and skeletal remains, to make room for battles yet to come. Armies on both sides had turned to arcane arts most vile, raising the already fallen to fight once again, never allowed to finally die. Men would fall, be collected, tied together with whatever was to hand, and brought back again, a little less each consecutive time. One such BONE BOY was Paddy. Back in the days before the Wars of the Never-Free, he was a humble bapple farmer, but now the glint was gone from his eyes, his clothes tattered and muck-spattered, his face no longer smiling that classic smile.

He toiled and he scraped and he wiped the sweat and grime from his brow as he shovelled bits of bodies into his nondescript bone bag. There was no sound but the croaking of crows and reshuffling of limbs as the far-off BONE BOYS trod their way through the mire.

However, Paddy's routine was interrupted by something he hadn't heard in quite some time.

Inane bullshit chatter.

Robin and the gang strolled on past them; Robin (looking like Australian superstar Russell Crowe), his head held high, was marching dramatically through the mud, loudly boasting about the time he apparently defeated the Sheriff of Nottingham in a game of Ker-Plunk, except the balls and sticks were replaced with grenades and lasers, and the loser of the game had to have their arse stuffed full of the aforementioned grenades and then sent off to the laser show to have a bad time. Robin presumably won this game, on account of the fact that he is currently alive, though it must be noted that we haven't seen his arsehole.

Milkshake was laughing along raucously, Theon was attempting to perform a sick kick flip (but failing spectacularly because a desolate bleak muddy war zone is not a place for MERRY GAMES), Yusef is continuing to carry out his contract killing by loading up an ACME rocket launcher, and their latest member (but honestly, how could we have lived this long without him?) was Gnomely Jenkins, of whom the thing in the bin had quantum leaped with. Gnomely Jenkins was a small shrivelled prune-looking gnome with a lilac knit cap, who slouched in his little hovering armchair and swore at passersby.

'Wow Robin, that sure was an EXPLOSIVE story!' said Milkshake, happy that he had been brought back from the fucking afterlife so that he could continue fulfilling his task of laughing raucously.

'I know, right? I think that I will celebrate a story well told by waving my arms around with absolutely no regard to who or what is around me!' And so Robin did just that, flailing around like an absolute ninny. In doing so, he accidentally fucking smacked Paddy round the back of the head, who promptly fell into the muck and shit and resigned himself to live there.

'Hang on, hold up. Who's this man here?' asked Robin loudly, yanking the reluctant Paddy up from the muck by the scruff of his neck.

'Fuck off!' said Gnomely Jenkins.

'Now there's an astute observation Gnomely! But who could he be?'

'Fuck!'

'Wow Gnomely, you sure do know your stuff!' said Milkshake, happy to have found a fellow fan of profound conversation. Theon dabbed in the background; Yusef tried to stab him, but Theon's dab cleverly got him out of the way.

'Listen here, you mucky pup!' said Robin to Paddy. 'Get yourself off the ground and shake around!' Paddy shakily regained his footing and looked at the newcomers with an empty expression. Robin looked at him expectantly and said, in kindly terms, 'I don't see you shaking around!' He then proceeded to shake around by way of demonstration. On closer inspection, Paddy was shaking, but this could better be attributed to post-traumatic stress or perhaps the onset of hypothermia.

Robin, still shaking, continued speaking. 'Look, we're just gonna cut this cake right open! And by cake, I am of course referring to cake of the CHOCOLATE variety! Have you seen a little boy made of chocolate running around here? I swear he was right with us, but by shucks he's a fast little critter! We saw him head right this way!'

Paddy looked at Robin. His expression was his usual look of sadness intermingled with an underlying sense of complete bafflement. Just as Paddy began to speak, he froze as the booming inhuman bellow of the Horn of the Dead. A feeling of dread came over him, a coldness that made him quake in his boots. He frantically looked around, and saw that the other bone boys had scarpered, sensing the change in the air. Soon enough the dead would be upon them. He would be slaughtered like a swine, and no one would mourn him.

'Fuck off!' interjected Gnomely.

'Indeed, I too find that clarion call most deafening!' said Robin.

'My precious monkey ears are NOT a fan of it!' added Milkshake. Robin and Milkshake grinned at each other at another issue resolved. Theon nae-naed. Yusef fell down the spike trap that he had been working on.

'Say, Mr Marbles - for that is the name that I shall now bequeath upon you,' (Paddy accepted his new name, for it had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone living anyway), 'you may be wondering as to how us five friends came to be! Well, let me tell you, us five bonded around three months ago, after a most spectacular excursion to lands spicy and sinful! We were sent on a mission, by the Christmas Creator himself, to teach THIS BOY the meaning of the most magical of holidays!' (It should be noted that in Paddy's culture, there is no such thing as Christmas - they only have the One Day of Suspended Hostilities once every ten thousand years, in which those who can still stand sit around a table of coagulated shit and eat a raw pigeon).

Paddy had not spoken in three years, and the last time he did speak was when someone had pointed out a bone to him that he was already about to pick up, to which he had replied, 'don't worry, I'm about to pick it up now'. So it can be expected that it would have taken him until now to manage to say anything. He slowly said to Robin, 'Have you succeeded?'

Robin laughed to himself; Milkshake pulled a party popper out of a pocket of his hat, and laughed as the confetti spiralled around him. 'Mate, we don't have a fucking clue as to what the meaning of Christmas is. Nothing we have done will teach us the meaning of Christmas; Jesus just keeps sending us on this inane fucking missions, and I don't know if I'm missing anything but from what I can gather, none of it has any relevance to Christmas. I'm just legendary English folk hero Robin Hood, and I've got a serious case of the changing face!'

'Haha, you've got that right!' laughed Milkshake.

'Fuck off!' shouted Gnomely.

'Haha, classic Gnomely!'

Paddy waited for the laughter and applause to die down, keeping a twitching nervous eye on the horizon, where, at any moment, the armies of the dead could well march forth from. 'So, why are you doing it?'

Robin shrugged. 'Jesus told me to? Some vague threats about the tinsels of time or some bollocks? I just had some errands to run with my crew, y'know. We've lost a fair few of 'em now, come to think of it, but hell, there's enough friendship to go round now, am I right?'

'You know it, chief!'

'Besides, even if we apparently don't know shit about Christmas, at least the little lad has made the fully-fledged transition from dickhead child to RADICAL WIZZ-KID.'

'Totally wizard, granddad!' said Theon as he pressed the pedal down on his Scalextric kit. How did he manage to set it up on this mucky horrible battlefield? I guess that's just the magic of the wizz-kid. Yusef fired at Theon at point-blank range, but an errant flying Scalextric car that had flew off of its track at high speeds managed to block the bullet, which ricocheted off harmlessly into the distance.

'Hey, Mr Marbles. Since you know this area so well,' (Paddy thought for a second about how they could know anything about him), 'feel free to come with us!' Paddy didn't really feel like he was free to make any sort of a choice, as the next thing he knew he was across Robin's shoulder in a fireman's carry, off as the squad marched in search of- what was it, a chocolate boy? What is one of them?

As they continued to march in apparently no real direction, talking about nothing in particular, and curiously enough not actually asking Paddy for any sort of directions, the fog seemed to clear somewhat as fires lit up the skies. Paddy pointed this out to the odd man carrying him, but Robin did not seem to give any indication he was listening. Milkshake appeared to be thoroughly capturing everyone's attention with a Chinese finger trap (known on this planet as a 'sadness capsule'), to which everyone was oo-ing and aa-ing over and apparently remaining entirely oblivious to the literal fire in the skies. By the time Paddy could hear the whinnying and neighing and trampling of hooves belonging to the steeds of the dead, three of them had managed to get their fingers caught in it, and Theon was aggressively attempting to hack them out of it (though appeared to just be smacking a Tamagotchi and muttering stuff like 'solve the source code!' to himself).

Finally, the armies of the dead were upon them. The main guy was up on his huge metal-as-fuck chariot drawn by three black horses with three black riders. In his chariot, he sat all chill-like in his big ornamental bathtub full of acid. He only wore a big spiky helmet and a look of smug happiness on his pallid ghastly face. His fat old cock was hidden beneath the acid bath, but trust me, it was nasty looking. Like a sea cucumber.

Paddy accepted that he was going to die now; he'd tried his hardest not to get drafted into the middle of these bloody battles, but apparently he was here now, so at the very least he decided that he would die with dignity. He looked up at the armies atop their nasty stinky horses (stinky both because they're dead, but also because horses are horrible icky animals, eew!), but they did not look at him. They were instead apparently enthralled in Robin and Milkshake's Chinese finger trap debacle.

'Nah mate, you can never get it off your hand. That's the whole point!'

'Ah shit, we're gonna have to spend our whole lives stuck together!'

'Ah, mate, is that such a bad thing?'

'Ah, bro!' They both laughed. Milkshake, using his free hand, pulled out a vuvuzela and started tooting it cheerily.

'Fuck off!'

'Ah, Gnomely! How'd you escape the Chinese finger trap?!'

'Fuck off!'

'Shit man, that's pretty impressive! I knew it was a good idea to have you along on our adventures! Indeed, all of them, from the very start!'

'Hack the planet!' screamed Theon, as he body-popped his last hack into the Tamagotchi's interface terminal, and the Chinese finger trap sprung off Robin's finger and slithered through the muck like a snake. Theon cracked his fingerless-gloved knuckles at another hack well done. The finger trap slithered and slid away, until it stopped inquisitively at the feet of… A CHOCOLATE BOY!

'Holy shit, it's the chocolate boy!'

'Holy shit, there he is!'

'Fuck off!'

'Chocolate boy, he's so _bad_!' ('Bad' as in 'good', because wizz-kids are fucking dumb).

'Let us take chase, so that we may eat him!'

And off the gang ran, Yusef struggling to catch up as he had apparently caught his feet in a bear trap. As he lurched awkwardly and caught the eye of the bemused army of the dead, he scowled a pineapple scowl, flipped them off by way of defiance, and to show that he wasn't fucking about, strangled Paddy to death, who had apparently been dropped on the floor in the excitement of the chocolate boy's appearance. Yusef then marched off too, attempting to appear dignified in the face of the hellish undead army even though he had a bear trap on his leg.

And so, the day was saved again! The gang got to eat the chocolate boy, and now they were ready to set off for new lands! But you may be asking, what was the thing in the bin up to this whole time?

On a planet quite a way away, in a little pink clearing, are a number of small toadstool houses shaped like giant middle fingers and crudely drawn penises. It is here that Gnomely's people live.

The thing in the bin sat there. 'Can anyone here please help me get home?'

'Fuck off!'

'Fuck off!'

'Fuck!'

'Fuck off?'

'Fuck off!'

'Fuck you'

'Fuck off!'

'Fuck it.'

'Fuck!'

The thing in the bin sighed. Sometimes it's better to be ignored than responded to.

END

YEAH IT TOOK US A BIT LONGER THAN A WEEK TO WRITE THIS

BUT AT LEAST YOU GOT TO SEE THE GANG YET AGAIN, EH

YOU CAN'T BITCH TOO MUCH, HYPOTHETICAL READER

THIS STORY AIN'T DEAD YET, UNLIKE THE TASMANIAN TIGER

HAVE A COLD ONE ON US LADS

XOXOX


	7. Chapter 7 - Hack the Angst Away

HI GANG WELCOME TO KOOKY LAND

YEAH NAH ALRIGHT HOLD ON STOP THROWING THINGS

WE KNOW IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE BOTHERED TO UPLOAD THIS

BUT TRUST ME MAN, THERE'S A LEGITIMATE REASON FOR THIS

I JUST DIDN'T WANT TO

BUT NOW I DO, AND SO WE DID, AND HERE IT IS

Chapter Seven - Hack Out The Angst

It was a Tuesday, and whilst this fact in of itself does not warrant major attention, one can glean an understanding of the importance of this day with the elaboration that the gang had chosen this day to play cards with Meatsock and the Shadow-Licker. Gazing upon this picaresque tableau of some local scamps violently playing cards with the fat meat man and the saint with the serpent's tongue, one could be forgiven for forgetting that the lads had been allocated the responsibility of discovering the meaning of Christmas. Let us look into what happened.

It has been well over a year since that fateful incident of Theon, then a dickhead twelve year old, met up with a hyperrealistic baby Jesus in Mucky Street, and was subsequently subjected to Jesus' aura of surrealism, shanghaied into the raucous company of the Three Robins, and given the vague task of finding the meaning of Christmas.

But do you know what happened? In the midst of all the tomfoolery seemingly unrelated to Christmas, Theon turned thirteen.

He wasn't a kid anymore, he was a teenager. And teenagers can't find the meaning of Christmas. Their rosy cheeks and wide-eyed wonder at the world are replaced with angst and hormones - you can't find the meaning of Christmas when your world is clouded with HORMONES! I wonder what a hormone cloud would produce instead of rain. Sweat and sadness, perhaps? And more importantly, will this metaphorical hormone cloud ever materialise in the dimensions of reality to allow Theon to fuckin' fly around on it like that social menace Sun Wukong? Only time will tell.

Just as Robin laid down a triple cherry slam-fuck on his hapless cards opponents (proving his complete lack of understanding of how to play cards), thirteen-year old Theon slunk into the church to join his comrades. Or at least he tried his hardest to inconspicuously slink, made difficult by the huge fuck-off doors that all good churches ought to have. I'm an advisory architect when I'm not writing this.

When looking for a new outfit to better suit his position as a cool teen hacker, he had Googled the word 'hacker' and designed his outfit roughly around that. Grey hoodie, nondescript trousers, vaguely shitty trainers? The apotheosis of cool. A greasy fringe and a spattering of acne completes the ensemble, he's ready for action. He's gonna fiddle with his mobile telephonic communication device and hack the planet something royal, no matter what the tyrannical Man tries to do to stop him.

Despite Robin's enthusiasm in his bullshit game of cards, his circumstances were far from perfect! To go back four months ago, when Theon first turned thirteen, he found himself prone to sudden bouts of teenage rebellion! But unlike his similar bouts at the age of twelve, he now had access to an omnipotent hacker phone, and thus was able to do more about his angst than cry and shit everyone off! His anguished adolescent whine of 'I don't like Christmas, and I CERTAINLY don't like space!' fell on deaf ears, as the other lads were next door playing an intergalactic game of poker that seemingly involved downing bottles of space vodka - it's a very complex game, or at least that's what Milkshake would have you believe. His impotence made ever more evident, Theon hacked the spaceship with some mighty twiddling with his phone, and down they all went! The spaceship crash landed on this here planet, titled Twatican City (or I mean that's what the city's called, I don't know what the planet is called) - here, religion and boozin' go hand in hand, due to a slightly unorthodox interpretation of the Bible along the lines of 'Jesus told us to drink more wine, and by fuck shall we do it'. The lads go to this church every night to drink and play cards - the aforementioned chattering about this being Tuesday and thus an important day for card playing is somewhat unnecessary, as apparently every day entails card playing in the church for these cheeky devils! Oops, that's blasphemy!

Anyway, Robin. Adventuring exploits were limited on this planet, and thus he had no choice but to become a clerk at the local Sainsbury's. He's still Robin, don't get us wrong, but the banal life of a day-to-day retail job has been wearing down on his heroic head. Hell, he hasn't even fired an arrow in two months! Do you know what that does to a man? Well, ask Robin. He'll give you a sorrowful tale.

Milkshake apparently worked as a bin collector, though the company may not be aware that he was an employee under him. He just started cruising around on a wheelie bin one day, screaming out 'I'm the trash monkey!' whilst throwing rubbish roughly in the direction of the tip on the other side of town. Somehow he managed to get paid for these actions, which perhaps could be attributed to the fact that everyone else on this religious planet were just too busy PRAYING to get any work done! Milkshake, a militant agnostic, didn't let piety get in the way of good old fashion manual labour.

Gnomely is homeless. We call him 'gnomeless'. Fuckin' lol.

That just leaves Theon and Yusef. Theon, being a thirteen year old boy, doesn't have a job, and thus just spends all his days masturbating in his AirBNB whilst he gay archer/monkey parents bring in the big bucks. He's got life figured out.

Last but not least, Yusef has completely given up on trying to murder the gang, knowing fully well that the man who had contracted him to carry out the hit had no way of contacting him on this planet, unless by prayer or divine intervention or some shit, but that seems unlikely. Yusef, recognising a gap in the market, had instead started a successful crime syndicate; in this land of the religious and the drunk, not much crime happens at all, and when it does happen the police are too pissed to do anything to stop it. Yusef's crime syndicate, called the Pineapple Bastards, had carried out such heinous crimes as loitering, petty theft, littering, and bullying the underclasses. Yusef had elected to ignore the adventuring lads, pretending they do not exist in much the same way as he pretends that his contracts and obligations are similarly non-existent. The lads still made attempts to call him over to join their so-called games of cards, and despite Yusef's continued ignorance of them, and even changing of pubs multiple times, the lads were somehow still always there to hoot at him and invite him over for cheerful camaraderie, discussing their shitty day jobs and commenting about how much Theon has grown.

Life is good, despite all of this. Not perfect, but still good. Weirdly uneventful, but y'know, who needs adventure in their lives? … Fuckin' psyche. We've got adventure inbound, you better watch out. Hide your gold chests and expensive sets of armour, because the adventure's a-coming!

'Theon, you angsty set of legs!' said Robin.

'What the fuck do you mean, "angsty set of legs"?' queried Milkshake. Milkshake was having NONE of this nonsense.

Robin loved Milkshake, but also wasn't having his excellent insults be refuted. He looked the monkey right in the eyes and yelled 'Fuck you!', before nibbling on his monkey ears with vitriol.

'Yah, boys, can we, like, calm it down? We-we're like, right the way through this here game of er, go-fish!' said Meatsock.

Suddenly, a small white bird flew in through the open stain-glass skylight, a letter tied to its dumb leg. It flew down and let the letter be plucked from it by the Shadow-Licker, before simply saying the contents of the letter in an Australian accent. 'Ere lads, you've been fuckin' conscripted! You better pack your shit and get off to the battlefield!'

'Hold on, why did we need the letter when the bird was simply going to tell us that we were to be conscripted for the Holy War?' asked the Shadow-Licker. It was too late. The bird, as all birds must eventually do, had gone away.

I hope you hate these characters as much as I do, because they're about to die. Before Meatsock and the Shadow-Licker could do much about their conscription into the Holy War, they were both shot square in the separate heads by an unknown assailant! Three separate bullets skimmed past Robin, Milkshake and Theon, who didn't really react as they were too busy engrossed in boozing and biting, respectively. Or also angst.

The bullets had come from the fuckin' Snub Nose .44 of one Yusef [middle name redacted] Johnson (or as you know him, Yusef the funny pineapple man, tee hee!) Hearing the click-click of his empty Snub Nose .44, he lobbed the gun at Milkshake, who deftly avoided it by standing still. Yusef could not kill these motherfuckers, and it pained him so. Had he returned here to finally kill these daft adventurers once and for all, lest their continued existence weigh on him always like a sloth of guilt?

Nah, he hasn't done that. He'd been joined by three of his gang and a man in a priest's uniform who was visibly pissed. Was this man a priest? No, he was the head of police! Oh man, we're just throwing twists at you today! There's only one uniform in this world, and it's a priest's get-up. Both Robin and Milkshake are dressed as priests. Don't worry about it though, it's entirely a visual gag. Not even a gag, just some convenient detail.

Now to explain this sudden appearance of our fruity friend: he had taken his crimes one step too far by putting a cat in a tree and laughing at the old woman who owned the cat. Yusef has really fallen on hard times when it comes to his crime committing; the whole Robin and Milkshake debacle had somewhat bolstered his confidence. This crime, however, is punishable by death in Twatican City. Yusef would not have done this if he had known it was punishable by death, which again stands testament to how his world views have been somewhat altered by this dumb contract. And so he had grabbed the head of police - not a difficult task, for, as we have previously specified, the law enforcement are as pissed as everyone else because they are sensible God-fearing citizens - and barricaded himself in this here church/drinking hole! The sound of audibly drunk men yelling out discordant siren sounds could be heard dopplering in the distance. It would be a while until they found this place, especially since Sergeant Hambone had chundered in the font four churches away and they had to deal with that nonsense.

The Pineapple Bastards began boarding the stain glass windows, all the while lazily doing tricks with their butterfly knives. Robin lurched up from his pew, falling flat on his face but raising his voice from his fallen position on the cold church floor. 'Yusef!' he hooted. 'Long time no see, eh old chum? Eh my good matey? Remember when you killed our friend Milkshake and we had to rescue him from the Land with the Hot? Crazy shit man!'

'Shut the fuck up!' shouted Yusef in response. 'Or else we'll blow this church slash pub sky high!' One of the Pineapple Bastards lifted up his Hawaiian shirt to reveal that he had a bomb strapped to his chest. 'This one's a salad side bomber!'

'That-that's dumb, and it barely works as a pun', said Milkshake. 'Now why on God's heckin' Earth did you shoot our poker buddies? They were two days from conscription! They had their whole War ahead of them!'

Yusef sighed, scratched his pineapple head with his Snub Nose .44. 'Listen man, shit has gone sideways my end, alright? I've done some bad shit. Shit you don't wanna know about.'

'Oi nah come on man. Don't just tease us like that,' said Milkshake, now eager to forgive Yusef for his stupid line earlier that seemed somewhat incongruous with his overall character come to think of it. He's not a pineapple prankster, after all. He's a fruity fiend.

'You wouldn't have brought it up if you didn't want to get it off your chest, pineapple friend,' said Robin from the floor. 'You can't keep all this stuff pent up inside, it could cause some serious long-term damage, friend! I should know, I work a banal 9-5 retail job, and OH BOY am I feeling not too good about it! But I'd feel a lot worse if I didn't share that shit with my pals! Two of whom you have just shot, but that's okay! We're here to listen.'

'I put a cat in a tree, alright?' spat Yusef irritably. Gasps were heard from all around, including from some of the members of the Pineapple Bastards.

'Man that ain't cool, dog', said Theon, briefly looking up from his Zune. 'Cats belong on the ground, not in the tree. Wack.'

The entire pub raises their glasses and says, 'Wack.' in unison. Theon waves his fringe out of his face in a way that he thinks looks cool before turning back to his Zune to listen to the System Shock soundtrack.

'Hey man, I may have done some messed up shit in my time - you've got to pay the bills somehow, man - but at least I didn't wilfully misinterpret an entire religious text to justify what is essentially secularisation via alcoholism! You're no better than Henry the VIII ordering the destruction of the monasteries, with your deliberate tarnishing of these places of worship for little more than drunken bacchanalia and-'

'Hey my simian pal, there's been something I've been thinking about all day,' said Robin, pulling himself up onto the pew and lighting a phat cigar.

'Yo, what is it man? Are you still angry at your boss Juan?'

'Nah nah, he died of booze overdose. That's not an issue any more man, my new boss has an earring and sells us weed, he's aight with me! Nah, I was thinking about the album cover to Judas Priest's 'Painkiller'.'

'Great fuckin' album.'

'Yeah, I know right. I like to listen to it as I murk the Sheriff's men and then tweak the Sheriff's nose, perhaps incorporating a disguise of some sort because that's the sort of shit I used to do before I got a mortgage and two children here in Twatican City. But nah, I was thinking of the motorcycle on the cover, right. It's got buzzsaws for wheels, right?'

'Yeah yeah, right. Fuckin' rad.'

'Yeah yeah, it is as well. But also, INEFFICIENT! For surely were one to ride the motorcycle, the buzzsaw blades would be worn down, hmm?'

'Well that's you assuming that he's going to be using the buzzsaw blades for slaughter after he's done his cycling. Maybe he did the slaughtering before he rode the bike. Or maybe he didn't do any slaughtering whatsoever. You can't be so presumptuous.'

'Man, the song that I'm assuming pertains to this rad bike is called 'Painkiller'. In fact, that's the name of the album. You can't deny that the bike is probably being used for killing, presumably of a painful nature.'

'Nah lads, you've got it all wrong'. This wasn't Milkshake, or Robin. Or at least, not the Robin that we know. Russell Crowe Robin Hood had changed to Errol Flynn Robin Hood, so as to offer a new perspective in this conversation. Errol Flynn will be remaining for the duration of this chapter. So anyway, as he was saying, 'you've got it all wrong. Look, the motorcycle on the album cover is FLYING. The wheels aren't being worn down at all! Well, unless you're flying through a sky that's made of GRANITE!'

'Hohoho, you're right!' The monkey and the Robin high-fived.

The salad side bomber blew himself up, oh shit! Pews were blasted asunder by the blast, stain glass windows shatter from seismic science shite, the church is fucked! Can you believe it?

As our heroes blatantly ignored the fact that they had been blasted into the air, they briefly took note of the fact that they were frozen in mid-air. Oh fuck, here comes the surrealism. All the ricocheting objects from the explosion start swirling around the nave at high velocities, before whirling into an indescribable shape and turning into dogs. The dogs fell through the floor and out of the ceiling, over and over again, faster and faster, creating a waterfall wall where the water is dog. Everything around them was now dog, but in quite a pleasant way. The giant eye in the sky was not pleasant, though it was certainly dog.

Jesus stepped through the waterfall, shaking loose dog off of his robes and scowling because he didn't like dogs. Except something was up with Jesus… he actually looked like Jesus for once! He rose his arms in greeting of the bewildered heroes. Or I mean Milkshake was bewildered - he had only heard of this Jesus shenaniganary from Robin, and assumed that it was usual Robin fare nonsense. Apparently it was true. Why the fuck does Robin know Jesus anyway?

Anyway, Jesus opened his mouth to speak. He said, 'Woof woof'. Oh for fuck's sake, the dog environs had leaked into his speech. Everyone dutifully looked down, waiting for the heavenly gnome to type up the automatically matched subtitles to translate Jesus' dog nonsense. It said, 'It was wrong of me not to put the face of my lover next to mine, and feel her warmth.' Oh for fuck's sake, Jesus' dog nonsense translates into usual Jesus nonsense.

'What's the craic, Jesus?' asks Robin with a grin. He was decked in priest gear now, he was feeling extra qualified to chat with the Big G! (He spelt it like that because it's not pronounced Jay-sus, and Robin knows this).

'I'll tell you what the craic is, Robin', said Jesus in subtitles. 'You dudes have restored the sanctity to this holy ground. Which one of you destroyed the sin of alcohol in this church via explosion?'

'It was me!' said Robin without hesitating.

'Ah, thanks bro. I owe you one. I guess the reason you lads couldn't contact me was because of all the sin that was going on down here. Like man, it hurts my head! Like, ow! Anyway, I'm here now, and since you've proven yourself to know what the hell you're doing when it comes to piety, it looks like you've passed all my tests and are ready to learn the true meaning of Christmas…'

It is at this point that Theon speaks up. 'Hey, listen up, DOG. All I've learnt from this WACKADOO is that I hate Christmas, and love hacking! In fact, I love it so much that I'm going to start spelling it with a capital letter! Hacking is good!'

'Yes, and in addition, what the fuck?' asked Milkshake. 'What is any of this? I do not like it!'

'I am one of many Jesus… no, the many Jesus's are one of me. Theon, the words you speak hurt me deeply. Like, ow, bro! Not cool! But this is the mindset you've got to be in for the final trial.'

'Alas, what is the final trial?!' shouts out Robin, ready to finally use his bow and arrow and all that fun nonsense.

Jesus chuckles, and says, 'Oh, you'll see!' He then slowly slaps everyone out of his world of surrealism, making ghost noises all the while.

The lads woke up on a familiar spaceship. Holy shit, it was no longer a piece of burning rubble in the vague vicinity of Twatican City! It was afloat in space once more. Theon checked that his limbs and hacking screwdrivers were still all where they belonged, and then went to go and check on his crew. Robin was dancing a merry jig, singing about adventures to come, whilst Milkshake repeatedly asked him 'what the fuck', though his requests fell on deaf ears. Yusef was in the corner, silently ruminating on matters that had once more turned foul. He didn't know how this had happened once again. Things went around in circles. He would drink himself to sleep. But wait, I hear you cry. Isn't there someone… missing…?

Theon thought so. He looked around, and found in one corner, a single dustbin. Gasp! Could it be…?

Yes it can! Out of the completely normal bin popped out Gnomely Jenkins! YEAHHH! WHAT YOU THOUGHT THE FUCKING THING IN THE BIN WAS COMING BACK?! FUCK OFF, HE'S NEVER COMING BACK! WE'VE GOT GNOMELY JENKINS!

'Fuck off!' he said. Classic Gnomely! Everybody laughed. But did they know what was to happen next? Could their laughter save them against… Christmas? Will we stop with these… ellipses?

YEAH OK I'LL STOP WITH THEM

SEE YOU SOONISH FOR THE LAST CHAPTER

WE'LL EITHER WRITE IT DRUNK OR WE'LL ACTUALLY SPEND TIME ON IT

BUT REST ASSURED THIS ISN'T THE LAST YOU'LL SEE OF US

YE AIGHT GO OFF AND DO SOMETHING ELSE NOW


End file.
